


Come Over

by Rancid_Rat6186



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Acting out nightmares, Alternate Universe - High School, Bucky Barnes Feels, He feels a lot of stuff, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Nightmares, Physical Abuse, Pining Steve, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sorry Steve
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-09-24 01:11:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 33,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9693299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rancid_Rat6186/pseuds/Rancid_Rat6186
Summary: Life was mostly perfect. So, naturally, Bucky ran. He ran to protect Steve. To let Steve live the life he deserved.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Based off of the song "Come Over" by Kenny Chesney. Not sure where this came from...the song came on and this popped in my head. Wasn't supposed to be more than one chapter, but apparently I'm not in charge of this playing out in my head. So...enjoy?

The sheets tangled around his lower legs, trapping him to the bed. The cotton of the fabric scratched against his bared skin. An open window across his bedroom let in the barely cooled summer night air. A soft sheen of humid sweat coated his skin. Bucky could almost feel the thunderstorm brewing in the air. He was considering shedding the boxers off of him at this point. A fan above him hummed in rhythmic circles, chopping against the shadows from the dim light the street lamp outside his apartment shone in. 

He let out an overdramatic sigh, louder than he expected it to be in the silent bedroom. Silence. It wasn't always like this. And it was all his fault. 

Bucky rubbed at his face, days worth of stubble scratching along his palms, along his fingertips. So many memories in the touch of his fingers...the soft skin, the soft lips, the blonde hair intertwined between them...

And it was all his fault. 

He kicked the sheets away from him. He knew he wasn't getting any sleep. Not with the bed this big...this empty. His long hair stuck to the nape of his neck, sweaty and sticky. No. Not the good kind. No. He couldn't have that again...

His bare feet slapped against the wooden floorboards as he made his way to the bathroom. Flicking on the light, his reflection startled him in the mirror. Days worth of stubble shadowed his features, darkening the purpling under his eyes, hauntingly highlighting the gray in his blue eyes. Fuck. He looked like shit. Has it really been a month, already? 

Life was so perfect a month ago. As perfect as it was ever gonna be for someone like him. A disabled vet with more scars than anyone could even see...nightmares that stole parts of him away...images he himeself could never unsee. But...there was always that soft glimmering ray of hope. No matter how lost Bucky ended up being...there was always one person who could seek him out, search for him in the darkest corners of his mind, pull him back from the tendrils of all those things that haunted him. 

There was always Steve. 

And he fucked everything up. Just like he always does. He often wondered if that's why the nickname of his nickname sounded an awful lot like Fuck... Maybe it was just some twisted version of a destiny...everything he touched would end up fucked in some way or another. He just never expected it to be the one person he felt safe with...the one person he ended up falling in love with. 

So, naturally, when things were at their most perfect...Bucky panicked and ran. That last image of Steve's face, fallen and confused, managed to seep it's way into his mind, overshadowing even the worst of his worst nightmares. The ones where Bucky would wake up shaking, his heart bruising against the thumping inside his rib cage, his skin cold and clammy...no...the last image of Steve's face was something his body had no reaction to. All he could feel was numbness. 

A distant rumble of thunder pulled him back from the swallowing depths of his own self-pity. This was his fault, and he needed to come to terms with it. It's not like Steve even made any sort of effort to make things work either. Hell...he was sure Steve didn't even want to after watching him walk away. Who the fuck would? 

Four years of his life...and he just walked away. And it was the hardest thing in his life. But, it wasn't fair to Steve. It wasn't fair to Steve to wake up by being punched in the face, sporting a brand new black eye for the following week because of it. It wasn't fair to Steve to grimace with each deep breath because a foot connected against his chest and bruised three of his ribs. It wasn't fair for Steve to wake up with hands gripping around his throat, squeezing the last bits of life out of him. That one was the last straw...the moment where Bucky knew he needed to walk away...for Steve. 

Watching the tubes pumping fluids and medicines into Steve's still unconscious body...watching the monitors reassure that Steve's heart was still beating...talking to the police officers about what happened...listening to Steve refuse to press charges...

No. None of that was fair to Steve. 

Lightning ripped across the darkened night sky, warning before the loud crack echoed in between the walls of his empty apartment. Empty...because Steve had moved out. Moved in with their friend Sam. Took everything that made Steve...Steve. And Bucky had never felt more alone...

He had always loved summer night storms. Steve and him would curl up in bed, wrapping the lightest sheet around their bared bodies, watching the sky roll over itself from the distance...feeling the shift in the air and the soft mist of falling rain seeping through the open screened window by their bed. They would watch the storm threaten and build and break. Soaking in the shared moment together, letting their silence fall between them comfortably. Life...Bucky would always think...couldn't be any better than those moments. 

Another crash of thunder, one that shook the floorboards beneath him. He wandered over to his phone, pressing the button to unlock the screen. 11:37 pm. No messages. Not that he was actually expecting any. But, he couldn't deny the burn of loneliness he felt welling up inside of him. 

'You could text him...just say 'Hi.' Just...'

No. No. He couldn't. It had been a month. An entire month of silence between the two of them. He dropped the phone onto the coffee table, letting himself fall onto the worn in couch. He let his head fall against the back of the couch, squeezing his eyes closed. Fuck. 

He blindly grabbed for the remote for the television, flicking it on, more so for the background noise. The impending storm had seemed to lose its momentum, quieting for the for time being. Bucky could hear the soft patter of the rain against the world outside of his apartment, pooling up the scents that had been muddled by the humid air the past few days. God, Brooklyn needed this storm...the 100 degree days just weren't working well for anybody. 

A loud rumble pulled him back to his empty reality, just as the rain started to pick up. He had half a mind to just wander out into the thick of it, let the cool water wash over him, ease the tension in his tired bones...

When he heard a knock on his door.


	2. Words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy.

Another loud clap of thunder shuttered the walls as his hand gripped the door knob. 

'Well, if this isn't the most ominus fucking thing ever...'

Bucky turned his wrist, releasing the door from it's lock, allowing whatever was out in the hallway into his closed off world he had been burying himself in. As the door swung open, all of the air left in the universe flooded past him and out into the hallway, leaving him breathless and, somehow, caught in the threads of an old memory. 

Steve.

No. This wasn't an old memory. An old memory wouldn't have this much space between them... Steve was real. Standing in front of him. Rain soaked blond hair meshed against perfect skin. Clothes stuck to the minutely detailed silhouette standing just within the shadows. Tired blue eyes searched for any sign of life...any sign of wanting. 

Words. Words could ease the increasing tension crawling across Bucky's body. Words could pull Steve in across the vast distance between the two of them. Words could tell Steve all the things Bucky had been wanting to say this past month...this past eternity. Words could bring them back to what they used to be. Words. Words. Words...

Oxygen crashed into Bucky, inflating his aching lungs. If it weren't for the vice grip over the door knob, the sheer force of life pushing back into him would knock him to his knees. Words. Words. Words...

Bucky watched as Steve's chest rose and fell, rose and fell, pulling the distilling air around them into himself...seeming to need the basic instinctive act of remembering to breathe just as much as Bucky did...needing to somehow ground himself back to this awkward reality they found themselves in. And, then, without keeping time factoring in to their actions, Steve reached a shaky hand forward, landing desparately against Bucky's chest. The skin coating Steve's hand was trembling, wet from the rain, radiating a warmth Bucky hadn't known he needed on these humid nights. If it weren't for the vice grip over the door knob, the overwhelming easing of tension pulsing through Bucky at that small contact would throw him to his knees...

The world around them blurred and broke, disintegrating into heaping piles of useless surroundings. The raging storm outside had quieted in both of their ears. Their hearts were the only noise thundering between them. The lightning bolts crashing between the skies around them held nothing to the burning electricity radiating among them. The distance between them...still too far away. Steve was still so far away. Words. Words. Words...

And, just like it had always been before, Steve could read Bucky's racing mind. Taking an equally shaky step forward, Steve brought his other hand to rest just on the crease behind Bucky's neck, inching his body closer and closer. Water dripped off the ends of Steve's hair, crashing to Bucky's bared chest, running down the length of his exposed torso. The coolness was welcoming with the building fire inside of Bucky's skin. The air between them was shared. Bucky could taste Steve's skin without even touching it. He breathed him in. The scent so familiar, so missed. Bucky's lips parted, eagerly trying to pull more of what made Steve...Steve...into him as much as he could. Tired blue eyes inched their way up and fell into lonely gray eyes. If it weren't for the vice grip over the door knob, the drowning beauty of Steve's eyes would throw Bucky into the deepest of those blue waters so willingly...

"Bucky..."

Words. Words. Steve found words. Even if they were whispered along the underside of Bucky's jaw...they were finally found. Words. No. Just a single word. A single word to bring every wall Bucky had scrambled to build over this lifetime apart from Steve...to bring them all crumbling down. Dusty brick embers suffocating his haunting thoughts of all the reasons as to why Steve deserved so much more than him. Because, Steve deserved so much more than...

Lips against his skin, and Bucky couldn't remember how to breathe. A hand against his chest. A hand against his neck. And lips against his jaw. The world imploded and all that was left was the two of them. Stars fizzled away. The sun burst and dimmed. The world was dark and the only light Bucky could find flooded into his eyes before him...

Steve.

"Steve."

He found words. Words. No. A word. The only word that mattered. The only word that could ever matter. Lips crashed into lips. The ground disappeared from beneath their feet as Steve spun Bucky around, pressing the door close with Bucky's back. If it weren't for the vice grip over the door knob, the longing relief of the feel of Steve's lips on his would bring him to his knees to pray to whatever God he didn't believe in...but would find any religion just to find some way to thank who the fuck ever for bringing yellow back into his grayed world. 

He broke his grasp of the door and pulled Steve in closer to him, relishing in the way to damp fabric slid perfectly against his exposed skin. He pressed into the kiss, searching, pulling, needing all of Steve against him with as much passion his nerves could muster. Words. Words. 

Fuck words. 

Fingers twisted in hair. Remaining clothes ripped away from bodies. Lips curling against teeth and tongues. Lightning shimmered and thunder applauded. The ground reappeared under the press of Steve's back, Bucky landing above, slotting one another perfectly into each other. Slow movements. Soft kisses. Deep thrusts. Teeth baring. Time froze. Words. Words. All the things Bucky wanted to say. To tell Steve how he felt. To tell Steve how sorry he truly was for ever thinking he could make it out in this world without his warmth. To make Steve believe that he would never hurt him again. To make himself believe he would never hurt Steve again. 

The release of their bodies between one another weighted them down with the softest of gravity...a gravity that had been lost around them before now...keeping them in a constant state of floating away from each other for so long now. Sweaty bodies cooled in the softening rain soaked air. And the world was easier to survive in with the warmth beside Bucky tonight. 

And in the morning, when Steve would be gone without a word...words...words...time would somehow stretch and the world would gray back at the edges as the softest yellows and radiating warmths would darken and still into the cold decay Bucky had become so used to these days...When words...words...words would be all Bucky could manage to scream at himself. 

So, for tonight, for this moment, Bucky would fall asleep to the fading thunderstorm outside the windows and press himself as tightly to the equally fading Steve beside him. He would give himself tonight, and fall back to his promise that Steve deserved so much more...

But, those were words he didn't need to speak right now.

Words. Words. Words...


	3. Red Solo Cup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You...you saw me?"
> 
> "Never didn't notice you." Bucky kept his smirk, eyes washing across Steve's face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trip into the past.  
> Steve's POV.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

The music flooding the small apartment was enough to spin Steve's head into a full blown migraine. He was almost sure the neighbors below must be pretty pissed about the noise and constant stampede of people in the hallways and stairs. If it weren't for the fifth red solo cup of just straight whiskey at this point, Steve might actually give a shit about the noise. He might even wish he was somewhere else, not surrounded by all these people he only sort of knew. 

High school wasn't his favorite time of his life. His awkward, lanky, scrawny years, his sudden growth spurt where people suddenly started to notice him, the pointless and constant drama amongst those sudden gawkers...and now he was surrounded by them all. Surrounded by all of them and turned up way too loud music that was nowhere near his personal taste... If those girls staring at him and giggling in the corner only knew...it didn't matter how short their skirts were, or how much they fluttered their overly drawn eyes at him... There had always only been one pair of soft blue eyes that he ever noticed...ones that never noticed him back...ones that never would. 

Maybe a fifth red solo cup of just straight whiskey at this point was too much...

He needed air. 

The fire escape led up to the roof. He muttered thanks to the outside world for being such a beautiful night in June. High school was ending, and he would finally be free from the inner torment he wandered around in within those walls. He was always quiet, reserved. He never had many true friendships. His best friend was Sam, another quiet loner he met in his art class freshman year. Sam knew most of the parts Steve kept hidden, specifically who kept most of Steve's interest all throughout high school. When Steve hit his infamous growth spurt and had all of these sudden interested parties...Sam couldn't help but laugh, loving that he was a part of the inside joke only him and Steve knew. 

Steve never having a girlfriend all through high school wasn't all that unheard of. Up until the summer leading into senior year, Steve was skin and bones, knobby knees and jutting elbows. It wasn't until summer break when muscles seemed to grow out of nowhere and inches stretched Steve right out of his raggy clothes. When Steve dragged Sam along to buy new clothes, Sam couldn't help but laugh the whole time.

"It's about time you bought some clothes that didn't have paint splotches on just about every inch of them..." 

Steve just grumbled and shoved tshirts and jeans onto the counter to have them rung in, awkwardly pulling down the hem of his outgrown tshirt that had been exposing his magically ripped abdomen. 

"Hey, man, look at it this way...maybe you know who will actually notice you this year..."

Steve was pretty sure his eyes might have dislodged themselves from his head, rolling his eyes too hard. Sam could only laugh even more at that reaction. 

"If he hasn't for three years now, I doubt he's gonna start now, Sam. Besides, he's got girl after girl hanging off of him. Pretty sure noticing me isn't the biggest issue between the two of us..."

"Not what I heard..."

Steve almost dropped all of his bags right there on the sidewalk. Pretty sure his jaw unhinged. 

"What?!"

"I'm not saying anything man...just something I heard in passing..."

"You're still not technically saying anything specific Sam...fucking spill..."

Steve could feel, taste, his heart in his throat.

"Just that I heard girls might not be his...thing..."

Steve could feel the heat in his ears. 

"His...thing..?"

"Yeah, just something a few of the guys had said one day in the locker room after gym class just before school ended."

"You've known this whole time and you didn't tell me?!"

"Hey, whoa! I wasn't sure you still were suppressing all those I'm-madly-in-love-with-Bucky-still feelings... I didn't wanna relight that fire..."

Needless to say, Steve was more than excited for high school to end. His senior year had started and just about ended the same way. Pining after some crush he never had a chance with, having to watch girls claw at the lost love of his life week after week. It hurt, but...with Sam's advice...he kept that burned out fire at bay, doing all he could to keep water on those lingering embers. High school would end and he wouldn't have to worry about Bucky Barnes ever again. 

Steve climbed over the last wrung of the rusted metal ladder and stepped down onto the rooftop. Only a dimmed light hung above the door off to the far corner of the roof, keeping himself buried in a comforting blanket of darkness and quiet. The music below him had dulled out enough and thankfully couldn't reach him all the way up onto the roof. 

He lowered himself down, letting his back lean up against the edging of the roof, dropping his head back against the lip, staring up into the crystal clear sky. Every now and again, he could make out a faint star, but the overpowering city lights would always steal them away. One of these days, he would have to make his way back to the ocean and get his fill of all the stars the sky would share with him...

As he drained the last of his probably shouldn't be just straight whiskey, shuffling feet caught his attention. The silhouette in the darkness was a little blurry, having the remnants of his red solo cup to thank for that. Once the dimmed lightbulb finally reached far enough across the rooftop, Steve felt a gasp escape his lips before he could even pull it back. 

Bucky. 

"Music too loud for you too?"

Steve was pretty sure this was the first time Bucky had spoken directly to him in the four years they'd been in school together. 

"Something like that..."

Bucky just laughed, almost as though he understood the underlying sarcasm in Steve's voice. 

"They're too much to deal with, sometimes. I don't blame you."

Steve couldn't help the gaping reaction. Those were his friends. Those were the people that threw themselves at Bucky and Bucky always seemed to be enjoying it, seemingly having the time of his life these past four years. Was Steve missing something?

"Steve, right?"

Steve nodded his head, watching in silent shock as Bucky inched closer towards Steve, lowering himself down and sitting next to Steve, close enough for their shoulders to touch. Steve tried to not focus on the way his skin tingled at the touch, at the closeness. But, fuck...this was Bucky. The sole reason, Steve believed, emo songs were written for...the pure desperate way Steve pined after Bucky from the shadows of his unpopularity...and Bucky never knowing his name.

Or, so he thought. 

"You ready for high school to be over as much as I am?"

Steve knew he should respond. He was just still so taken back from the realization that an actual conversation was happening between himself and Bucky. 

"Didn't seem like it was all that bad for you." Steve's voice was quieter than he wished it would be. But, the laugh that bellowed from deep within Bucky was riddled with more sarcasm than he assumed Bucky had wished. 

"Guess it looked like that, huh?" Bucky said, staring up at the sky.

Something etched across Bucky's face, something Steve couldn't really place. Dammit, that fifth red solo cup of just straight whiskey was really a piss poor idea... The words he wanted to say kept getting trapped in his throat. So, like usual, the ones he didn't want to say came tumbling right out.

"I don't think I could have handled this all the time for four years." 

Bucky slowly brought his eyes back down, searching over Steve's face. A soft smirk broke over his lips. "Not a fan of your new attention I take it?"

Wait. So, Bucky DID notice Steve? Of course, he must of, only because people wouldn't stop talking about his stupid growth spurt. That had to have been the reason why.

"Not the kind of attention I was hoping for." Steve had to look away. He never imagined he would be saying those words to the one person he always wanted to get attention from. "Nobody saw me before, so it wasn't something I was really looking for..."

"Back when you had paint all over your clothes, even when you didn't have art that day, and your hair flopped every which way?" 

Steve's head shot back to face Bucky too quickly, feeling the rush of nausea rush into his throat. Too much whiskey. No, that wasn't it. Bucky had seen him? All these years, Steve had believed nobody saw him, including Bucky. But, Bucky had...

"You...you saw me?"

"Never didn't notice you." Bucky kept his smirk, eyes washing across Steve's face. 

"I...I just...I mean...I always thought..." Steve hated himself for stammering, but this was too much. 

"Because I had girls falling all over me?" Bucky's face softened, his smirk fading, looking almost pained. "Never were my thing..."

Something in Bucky's eyes dug their way into Steve's heart. Bucky broke away and stared back up at the night sky. Steve couldn't break his eyes away from Bucky. His heart must have definitely leapt out from his chest and dove off the side of the roof, taking with it all the oxygen with it. 

Steve wasn't sure how much time had passed before Bucky looked back down at him. Yup, Steve was still staring. Dammit. 

"Something on my face?" Bucky chuckled. 

Steve slammed his mouth shut, because, yup, that had been hanging open. He shook his head, dropping his eyes down to his fumbling hands in his lap. "I...I didn't...know."

"Not many people did before this year. Never really cared what they thought, but...never bothered to share it with the class. Guess, enough turned away girls finally put it together. Guess kissin' wasn't enough." Bucky shrugged, his own eyes falling down to Steve's fumbling hands. 

"Oh." Steve's voice was too quiet, again. 

"Hey, good news for you, right? Nobody blocking your chances with what's her name now, right?" Bucky nudged his shoulder into Steve's, playfully. 

"Oh, uhm, I guess." Steve shrugged his shoulder away from Bucky's. 

"Oh, c'mon! I saw her down there. Pretty sure she had you undressed in her head the first second you walked in the door!" Bucky's voice was too enthusiastic for Steve to keep his thoughts deep down where they were supposed to stay. But...he had that fifth red solo cup of just straight whiskey... "She's..uhm...not my thing?" 

He managed to lift his eyes away from his lap to stare into Bucky's widening eyes. The night air stilled around them, and suddenly, Steve was hating himself for ever coming to this fucking party tonight and drinking five red solo cups full with way too much whiskey...

Bucky leaned over and kissed Steve, warm, slow, and filled with everything Steve had been dreaming of for four years. 

Suddenly, Steve was oh so thankful for that fifth fucking red solo cup filled with just the right amount of whiskey.


	4. Watching Them Shine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve found himself losing his grasp he once had on his dizzying rational thoughts. Nope. There was no hope in it now. He just let go of his grip of his steady and plain life to dive head first into the crashing abyss of Bucky's beauty. The threat of the unknown cresting and crashing below the cliff's edge, pulling him down in the curling riptides, drowning him in the current of all the things that made Bucky illuminate. 
> 
> Steve could feel himself choking on the salted particles of all those pieces of Bucky, thrashing around under the surface of all those things he had been yearning for all these years. Thrashing not from the lack of oxygen. No. Steve was thrashing to keep himself below that unseen surface, to keep himself consumed by all things Bucky, to keep himself enveloped by its erupting chaos that bled and fueled itself under Steve's skin, igniting him with those burning embers of Bucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More history leading its way to how the first two chapters came to be, from Steve's POV.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!  
> Let me know what you think.

There are those moments in one's life where the memories are so vivid that even the finest details can feel just as real as they had felt in the actual moment. Steve had plenty of those moments. But, the moments leading up to how the person who Steve had been longing for for the past four years somehow ended up in his lap on some rooftop on some night in June...will forever be the fuzziest, most beautiful memories he could ever have. 

He knew there was shitty club music, a faint aftertaste of decent enough, but far too much whiskey, faint outlines of stars freckling the crystal clear night sky, and soft brown hair curling across his cheeks. Oh yeah, and a tongue in his mouth...that wasn't his. 

They say that when you meet someone, sometimes you can just feel how important they would end up being in your life, regardless of the outcome. Steve was sure Bucky was somebody important to him, just always from afar. The beautifully flowing enigma that was Bucky Barnes was something always just out of little 'ol Steve Rogers' reach. The two of them spilled out from entirely different worlds. Puddles of unmeshable circumstances that would ultimately keep them forever separate. It was a reality Steve had accepted years ago. There would never be a circumstance that would allow Steve to steal a true glance at the light that was radiating deep from somewhere within Bucky, glimmering out across the world and warming the lives of everyone it touched. 

Steve would always be just outside its reach, tucked away in the shadows. As much as it hurt him to believe that...it was all he could do. 

So, the years passed. Steve would always see that inviting bright smile from down the hallways. He could sit in the furthest corner of their shared classes and smile to himself as he listened to Bucky bullshitting his way through each topic with such ease, with such assurance. Steve could never understand how someone that never did any of the assignments was still at the top of the class, straight A's in almost everything. But, he just always chalked that up to the brilliance that was wrapped within Bucky. There wasn't a thing Bucky couldn't touch that wasn't always left for the better afterwards. 

But, it would never be Steve. 

Even after his frustratingly noticeable growth spurt, Steve had learned to keep his head down and wander amongst all those familiar strangers, counting down the days until he could leave those hallways for good. It's not like Steve was ever bullied. No. He was just never noticed before. 

And then, suddenly, he was. 

But, it was never by that one pair of eyes he would catch himself dreaming about. So, the days dragged on, the separation of their two worlds becoming more and more painfully apparent. 

Now, suddenly, those steel blue eyes were staring deeply into his own varying shade of blue, chest heaving up and down attempting to catch a solid breath, breaking from kissing, after piercing into him and telling him he had noticed Steve afterall, and Steve couldn't help the dizzying swirl of his mind...trying to somehow make sense of it all. 

Without warning, Bucky jumped away from Steve, landing almost too flawlessly on his feet, barely drawing a sound from under his weight. There was that moment of panic fluttering in Steve's heart. Fuck. Bucky was just too drunk and didn't mean to kiss him like that. No. Bucky liked girls. He always had them surrounding him. He was just fucking with Steve when he told him they weren't his 'thing'. Bucky just wanted to finally get an answer out of Steve if girls really weren't 'Steve's thing'. Fuck. He was such an idiot to ever think Bucky would look at him that way. Bucky would always just see the skinny, scrawny, paint smeared art geek that would never matter in his beautifully colored world. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

And, again, without another fucking warning, Bucky reached a steady hand towards Steve. Eyes steeled and focused, lips curling into the warmest smile Steve had ever seen from Bucky...and trust him to know all the kaleidoscopic versions of his smile that enriched Bucky's already immaculate facial makeup. This was one Steve had never seen before, and it was aimed at him. Only him. Yeah, Steve even looked around to make sure someone wasn't somehow hiding behind him and that was who Bucky was really smiling at and reaching for. 

Bucky just laughed, reaching closer until he wrapped both sets of his fingers around both of Steve's wrists. "C'mon you idiot. I wanna show you something." 

Bucky pulled Steve to his feet and only broke his grip on Steve's arm when he started to climb down the fire escape, glancing back every so often to make sure Steve was actually following him. Little did Bucky know that Steve would follow Bucky to the end of the line if it meant he could see him smile like that one more time. 

Once their feet hit the pavement of the sidewalk, Bucky all but threw himself into the emptying street to hail a cab. Steve stood back, watching Bucky swirl and sway, dancing to some silent music, dipping between passing cars so effortlessly. All Steve could do was stare. And maybe pinch his leg a little bit to really make sure this wasn't just some perfect dream he would be pulled awake from. No. It wasn't a dream. And that was definitely going to leave a mark...

Bucky finally managed to flag down a cab, leaning half of his body into the open window, Steve guessed to talk to the driver. Bucky popped back out, twisting in the air, landing to face Steve with another whole body warming smile stretched across his face. 

"C'mon, Stevie. Get in!" 

Stevie? What? Okay. Sure. 

Steve tried to keep his steps within a normal pace, even though his entire body was scorching with an animation Steve could never draw himself. Bucky stood, pulling one of the back doors open, waiting for Steve to climb in and enthusiastically join him on whatever crazy adventure Bucky could find for the two of them. 

Steve didn't know it then, but, to date, this would be Bucky's scariest, most intoxicating adventure he would ever take. And Bucky was jumping in, without looking back. Never again would he ever look back. 

\-------------------

After what felt like an entire lifetime of stolen glances and sparks of glowing electricity, the cab finally slowed to stop in front of an emptied boardwalk. Steve could imaging all the crowded bodies trekking across the sea worn planks of the boardwalk just hours ago. But, tonight, right now, everything was left for just him and Bucky. They didn't have to share anything with anyone, and Steve almost couldn't keep his skin intact, wanting to burst through the barrier and coat the world with his warmed and blissfully, perfectly, untouchable happiness bubbling inside of him. 

Steve watched Bucky climb out of the cab, throwing a crumpled pile of money into the cab driver's lap, earning Bucky a soft chuckle from the driver at Bucky's oozing radiance. 

"You better follow him and make sure he doesn't drown himself in the water or climb his way up to the top of the ferris wheel." 

Steve just gave the cab driver a soft smile, thanking him softly for the ride and wishing him a safe night as he pushed his way along the leather backseat, climbing his way out from the cab. Once the cab drove off, Steve was flooded with the soothing sound of the waves crashing in front of him. 

Bucky had somehow already managed to jump the railing and pulled his socks and shoes off, discarded into the sand in two very different directions of one another. Up until a few hours ago, those tossed aside shoes and socks were the perfect metaphor for the entirety of Steve and Bucky the last few years. Separate. So much world between the two of them, keeping them forever distanced. 

Until now. 

Steve climbed over the railing, landing not so gracefully into the sand below. He pulled his own shoes off, tossing one to each of Bucky's shoes, joining them together within that vast expanse still between them, somehow pulling the edges closer. Steve didn't even try to conceal the smile pulling at his lips as he saw his sneakers intertwining in the space with Bucky's. 

He managed to catch up to Bucky along the shoreline, where Bucky was already ankle deep into the water, waves splashing salted lines into the denim of his rolled up jeans. Steve rolled the cuffs of his pant legs to almost his knees, joining Bucky in the still pretty damn cold Atlantic water. Bucky kicked water towards Steve, splashing scattered spots onto Steve's clothes, and Steve retaliating just the same. 

Out of breath and slightly dampened, they wandered back up the empty beach, plopping themselves down against the sandy surface. Steve pulled his feet in, bending his knees into his chest, wrapping his arms around his shins. Bucky sprawled out across the sand. Steve couldn't help but think of a beached starfish staring down at Bucky, watching him, begging himself to remember all of these perfect details of a hidden Bucky he had nevr known. 

Bucky looked at Steve from the corner of his eyes, smirking as Steve flushed and turned away too quickly to ever be subtle. 

"You're missing it."

Steve struggled to find how his voice worked. The last words he actually spoke to Bucky was back when they were still on the rooftop, and Steve had still been buzzing from the whiskey. 

"Huh?"

That was the best he could manage. 

Bucky sat up, only to pull Steve back down towards the sand, sprawling Steve out onto his own back in surprise, as Bucky fanned himself back out into his sandy snow angel he had formed just a few minutes ago. Bucky turned his head back towards the sky, eyes focusing on the blinking lights spread out across the darkened silky sky. Steve found the strength somewhere within himself to pull his eyes away from Bucky to stare up at the night sky. 

"This is one of the few places I know of that you can see this many stars." 

Steve just stared. He had always loved the way the stars fought their way across all those lightyears and sparkle against the darkest of skies, there to always remind Steve that even with a haunting darkness, there could always still be even a small sliver of light. Steve couldn't help but slot Bucky into that image in his head...the most purest sliver of light that couldn't ever be snuffed out, no matter the blinding darkness building all around. Bucky could outshine even the sun.

"I know they're just balls of gas, and by the time we even see them, they've mostly already burned out..."

Bucky tipped his head to the side, almost questioning his own words...wondering why they couldn't just burn forever.

"...but, for one night, they shine and connect an entire world with everything that is beyond our reach. Everyone looks at the same stars. No matter who we are, no matter who we are...we all get to see the same lights shining down on us, letting us know it's okay to wish for a better life, a better circumstance, a better moment in time. And, without demanding anything in return, it gives us that small piece of hope to believe all of our wishes could come true. Even if we know they won't actually come true...there's that split second where we get to believe it could." 

Steve had long forgotten about the stars sprinkled across the sky above him. No. He was staring at Bucky, melting into the pureness of his words, the stormy spirited soul that stretched and cocooned Steve into its softened warmth that Steve couldn't imagine his life without now. Sure, he pined like hell over Bucky all these years, but to hear those lyrical words ripple out from Bucky washed over Steve in ways no words could ever describe. 

Steve found himself losing his grasp he once had on his dizzying rational thoughts. Nope. There was no hope in it now. He just let go of his grip of his steady and plain life to dive head first into the crashing abyss of Bucky's beauty. The threat of the unknown cresting and crashing below the cliff's edge, pulling him down in the curling riptides, drowning him in the current of all the things that made Bucky illuminate. 

Steve could feel himself choking on the salted particles of all those pieces of Bucky, thrashing around under the surface of all those things he had been yearning for all these years. Thrashing not from the lack of oxygen. No. Steve was thrashing to keep himself below that unseen surface, to keep himself consumed by all things Bucky, to keep himself enveloped by its erupting chaos that bled and fueled itself under Steve's skin, igniting him with those burning embers of Bucky. 

"Stevie?"

Oh, god, keep saying that, forever.

"Yeah?"

Bucky kept his eyes up towards the stars. Steve kept his eyes towards the only star he could truly see. 

"Do you think, if you were on one side of the world, and somebody was on the other side of the world, that when you both looked up to the sky, looked up at the stars, that for just a moment, you two were actually together, watching them shine just like we are right now?"

Steve turned and looked back to the sky, imagining the feeling of all that distance between two people, but being pulled together so close by the light the stars gave to them.

"Yeah, I think so." 

Another remarkable lifetime stretched out between them, words not needing a place for those perfect moments. Steve tried to keep himself from imaging the sun rising and this night ending, tried to keep his mind away from the idea that Bucky would no longer be by his side when he would turn his head. He tried to ignore the sinking feeling of knowing the stars would disappear one by one and this time shared with Bucky would finally break into just beautiful memories Steve would carry around with him for the rest of his life. 

No. Steve wanted to live inside this little shell, this little glass bubble of just him and Bucky and the beach and the stars. He wished, begged for time to freeze, to just give him a few more tastes of this life. He tried to capture the twinkle of each star. He tried to memorize the beautiful symphony of the ocean waves crashing just far enough away from their bared feet. 

"I'm leaving at the end of the summer."

And just like the soft, breaking waves, all of the air in Steve's lungs rolled and retreated away from the surface of his survival into the darkened abyss the night claimed of the ocean.


	5. Too Many

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is such a short chapter. It had been written for weeks, and life kind of decided to be an asshole and make everything take a backseat. But, I wanted to put out something. 
> 
> More to come, hopefully a lot sooner than this. 
> 
> Some Bucky POV.  
> (Warning for implied abuse)

"Maybe they'll be able to get your fucking attitude in check."

"Pretty sure if it's stuck around after you trying to beat it out of me all these years, there's not a fucking whole lot they can do." 

"Guess I'll just have to try harder."

\---------------------

The door slammed behind Bucky, with probably more force than really necessary, but, at this point, he just didn't give a shit anymore. The movement of slamming the door stung sharply at his bruising ribs. Yeah, there would definitely be a multicolored masterpiece riddled across his ribcage. The old ones had just barely faded. He sighed, wincing at how sharp that actually felt as well. Oh well. Another day. Another bruise. Another few months until he could up and leave that fucking hellhole and just be far away. He just swung the near full whiskey bottle up to his lips and chugged a few moutfuls of the bitter brown booze, mixing oddly with the metallic taste swirling in his mouth, smirking at himself for managing to swipe one of the good brands out of his father's stash. 

"Take that, you stupid fuckstick." 

\-------------------

The music was too loud. The girls were too clingy. The booze was too sweet. He just wanted his throat to burn with the sting of whatever was strongest, whatever would dull away the roar of his father's voice in his head. He had somehow managed to lose the bottle he had been cradling along the way, holding it close to his chest like it was the most precious gift the world could have ever given to him. Ignore the fact that it was actually a 'stolen' gift... But, now, fuck. Where the fuck did he leave it? 

Too many people. Too many people screaming his name with too much enthusiasm. Too many different alcohol varied breaths stinking up his nose. Too many girls and their shitty perfumes and their too done up faces clawing at him, begging for kisses and something more. Too many. Just too fucking many.

Bucky could feel the rising panic rushing into him, blurring out his vision. Fuck. The edges of everything were distorting, burning into blackness. His lungs contracted, forgetting how to refill with oxygen. Fuck. His fingers trembled, numb with the simmering blood speeding through his veins. Fuck fuck. His knees buckled under the weight of the entire fucking world crashing down on him. Fuck fuck fuck!!! 

He darted towards the open window, shoving faceless bodies out of his path. Oh, well, fuck, there was that stupid fucking bottle. Why did he leave it on the floor? He couldn't help the "my precious" that escaped from his lips. He took another too long of a sip from the slim neck and relished on the way the liquid burned its way down his throat and coated his stomach, numbing what hadn't numbed itself already. 

His foot caught along the windowsill as he climbed his way out the narrow opening. He was escaping, he knew it, but he didn't fucking care. His ribs twinged as he landed harshly against the metal railing of the fire escape. Eh, what's one more bruise on top of one more bruise on top of one more fucking bruise? He steadied himself beside the railing, sipping another helping of the whiskey before directing himself up the sketchy as fuck stairs leading up to the rooftop. 

Somehow managing to ascend the rusty staircase, he all but threw himself onto the rooftop, falling onto his hands and knees, bottle of whiskey rolling away from him. Well, if that wasn't the worst fucking sight ever...he wasn't even ashamed at the fact that he sped crawled (is that a thing) across the rooftop after the half empty bottle. 

He managed to scramble to his feet, unsteady and knees still a little wobbly. Across the length of the rooftop, the dim light behind him couldn't reach, encased in darkened shadows, and Bucky knew that was exactly where he needed to be...hidden away from the world...away from everyone...away from everything. 

He didn't want to be Bucky tonight. He didn't want to be anybody. He didn't want to have to put on the longliving facade of faked happiness. He didn't want to have to keep pretending he was so carefree and nothing could hurt him. He didn't want to be the life of some bullshit party. He wanted to bleed into the stillness of the night and float into the darkness and dance between the flickering stars above his head. Maybe a few more chugs of the good branded whiskey could actually take him there... 

\-------------------

It had been what felt like hours since Bucky skipped out on his usual Friday night festivities, leaving all of his "friends" cramped in some tiny apartment because he could feel the walls literally closing in on him, squeezing the essence of his soul out from the alcohol clogged pores in his skin. And none of them even noticed. They never noticed. They never fucking noticed. 

It wasn't until at the start of the year where his entire life shifted and steered itself way off course. It was just another useless night, and he had run his mouth, probably, a bit more than he should have. He found himself curled into the flimsy material of his thinning mattress, gasping for air with every shallow breath, lungs rasping like an entire ocean was flooding into him and suffocating him from within. He could taste the iron, the copper aftertaste stinging his tongue. The night sky was getting harder to see, his left eye swelling and shutting the world off with each passing second. His left arm hung awkwardly beside him, contorted, too sharply. 

He spit out the words to the doctor, to the nurses. Words he knew wouldn't draw any attention to anyone else but himself. Good thing he had a reputation behind himself. Nobody questioned his injuries, his story. Nobody looked any deeper into the lack of life buried behind his eyes. Because nobody would believe the sorrow sunken deep below the life Bucky exuded out of himself, like the sun itself shone out through his skin. 

It was that night that Bucky knew exactly what he was planning for his 18th birthday. And when March came around, after school that day, he walked right over to the recruitment office and vowed to protect this country at all cost. He held his eye contact as he shook the officer's hand, all the while keeping it buried within himself that he was taking a cowards way out of his life, and running. But, if he could protect anyone else, just even one single person, from a terror he knew all too well, then he could find reason behind his decision.

He knew how it felt to live in fear, and believed nobody else should have to. 

So, when shuffling steps broke against the calmness of his rooftop retreat, Bucky wanted to scream. No. He couldn't be lost to himself anymore. And the effects of the whiskey were started to wear away. But, his nerves couldn't handle another pull from the bottle, now discarded and rolled away from him. He had stretched them so far tonight, he's still mildly impressed they hadn't frayed. The crushing weight crashing down onto him from the onslaught of panic always left him drained, boneless, numb. 

He turned his head to not so subtly murder glare at the intruder, keeping himself safely tucked away in the shadowy darkness. The blond hair stung his eyes.


	6. Reckless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky's POV, from when him and Steve found one another on the rooftop. 
> 
> Sorry for the onslaught of angst. Apparently, that's where Bucky lives in my mind. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Bucky had kept a distant, but oh so close eye on Steve, passing him in the hallways, taking every minute detail in about him. No, not when Steve had his infamous growth spurt. No. First day of freshman year, when Steve stumbled out of second period art class with blue and green splotches of paint trailing along his jawline, patches of red spread across long, sweeping blond hair that always seemed to hang in the most mesmerizing shade of blue Bucky had ever seen. Splatters of multi colors trickled down across Steve's plain gray tshirt and ripped worn blue jeans that barely hung over his hips. Bucky definitely remembers that Steve had been asking a whole lot of that worn out brown leather belt, almost like Steve was asking for every fraction of gravity to help keep his jeans upright. The disheveled outward appearance of Steve drew Bucky into Steve's universe, but Bucky couldn't let himself let go of that tether his own universe was swallowing him up in. 

So, Bucky always kept a distantly close eye on all things Steve...carefully avoiding prolonged eye contact, and playfully sneaking half smirks and dulled out smiles towards Steve in the hallways and any shared classes. (Bucky never missed a class during their shared sophmore geometry class and their junior year english and psychology classes. Bucky sat at the back of the classes, two rows over and one seat back from where Steve sat, always, carefully watching over Steve as he focused in class. Thankfully, school came so easily to Bucky that his very, very divided attention away from the subject matters during class didn't actually ever effect his grades.) 

And Bucky let swarms of girls climb their ways over one another to reach him, to try and spend any spare extra moment with the false radiance Bucky shone their way. He always felt bad when they all always asked for more, and Bucky would always smile and gently break their hearts...one right after the other. He knew, even before high school, that his heart, his body, wanted something all the girls flocking around him just couldn't give to him. And, even more, little did ANYONE know...Bucky had one very tiny, very mysterious, very blond person in mind...one with paint on his clothes and eye that sparkled with the beauty he knew only that shade of blue could find. Bucky knew exactly where his heart lay...and it was wrapped tightly in the woven threads of Steve Rogers. 

The only thing holding Bucky back from ever letting his hidden wantings known was his abusive father. Mr. Barnes, with his own twisted and mangled childhood that was filled with oceans of alcohol and blurs of hands and feet, somehow managed to follow step by step in the shadowed feet of his own late father. Bucky always laughed when he would hear people say that parents with shitty parents of their own would parent in one of two ways; the exact opposite, knowing just how terrible life lived like that felt and vowing to never let their children suffer the same, or following the same exact pathways and blaming their own children for their misguided ways. Bucky did have to give his father credit. He did TRY. When Bucky was real small. His memories are fuzzy, unsure if by choice or the one too many head blows he has accumulated all these years...but, he can feel small shrapnels of warm memories with his father. 

Like his first baseball game when he was only six. His mother stayed at home with Bucky's three younger siblings, four, two and 3 months old. This was something just for his father to do with his eldest, his only son. His father carried him all the way from the train station to the stadium on his shoulders, so Bucky could see everything. He spent every afternoon after that one baseball game playing catch with Bucky in the middle of the street, exhausted from working all day, but always making an effort to have those few minutes with his son. Bucky was six. And that was the last good memory he had of his father. Sure, there were a few moments here and there, sometimes on birthdays and random holidays, but lasting no more than a few moments, and never fully reaching the warmth those earlier memories had made. 

And when Bucky hit his teenage years, and the attention shifted from sports and brawling with his friends along alleyways over to girls...Bucky knew he had to play a part that he had perfected all these years. He knew, even at such a young age, exactly what his father would do. Sometimes, even the fact that Bucky was existing in his father's world would somehow end with Bucky sporting several new bruises tucked away under his tshirts and shaggy hair. Being a rough around the edges male in his early preteen and leading into his teenage years always helped Bucky's excuses have some kind of authenticity to them, never making even his oblivious mother or glaring teachers second guess him. Bucky's reputation for being polite and respectful to his elders only helped solidify Bucky being able to keep those secrets buried deep within only him and his drunk father. 

The bruises and broken bones never bothered Bucky all that much, truthfully. He knew that if he was the one to hide a limp or fake a story for his newest black eye or split lip, it meant none of his little sisters would ever know what their father does after they all go to bed. Bucky was almost proud, knowing that he was able to keep this darkened part of their father a secret from them. It wasn't fair to them to have their near perfect image of their father tainted by the lurings of decent booze and shitty after effects that decent booze often gave. Some nights, and they had been stretched to few and far between the older Bucky had gotten, Bucky would lie awake, clutching at his ribs, bracing himself against the pain as he struggled to take breaths...he would wonder why his father was the way he was. He knew all the dark things his grandfather had done to his father, but that was a different time, and his father was a different man. Bucky would try and think of all the stupid kid stuff he had done throughout his life and wondered if any of those had led his father to become the way he was. 

The deep down belief that it was Bucky's fault started to drift away with the more years Bucky managed to wake up into. It was an odd kind of reality to find himself within, realizing he no longer cared about why his father did all those things to him, and wishing less and praying almost rarely for a day when it all stopped...Bucky had resigned himself to tightening his jaw and breathing in just the right way to lessen the stings of his father's randomized blows. He never fought back. Never. Never even raised a finger or spoke out against his father. He knew...just knew this was something his father needed to do, needed to let out of his tortured body to somehow wake and survive each new day, and it protected his sisters, even though Bucky was near almost positive that their father would never lay so much as a finger on his sisters. But, Bucky didn't want to chance it. He knows giving an excuse for all the things his father has done is far from okay, but...those fuzzy memories would sometime bubble up with finer details to help Bucky remember...help him remember his father did love him at one point...and somewhere along the way...he just lost his footing. 

But, when summer ended and their final year of high school started, Bucky failed horribly at keeping his tongue in check. Years and years slipped by and Bucky never spoke a word against his father, or ever blamed his mother, or ever mouthed off to his little sisters. Never. But, senior year was starting, Bucky would be turning eighteen in a few months, and...well, he was getting tired of having to shallow out his breaths so he could finish a fucking test in school. So...he mouthed off. If you asked him why just before senior year started, why that was when Bucky stopped caring, stopped faking, stopped hiding...why he just let go...he honestly couldn't say. The words just seemed to float right out of him. And that's how he found himself in an ER with a fake story about his broken arm and a bruised face that clearly didn't match up with his story, but he poured his every creative morsel into his story and the doctor and nurses believed him enough to let him go with a cast and some pain meds. 

Bucky refused to go back to the way he was after that night. When his father would come back home after a long shift and Bucky could practically taste the alcohol seeping out from his father's skin...he let his tongue spew the words he knew would rile his father up the quickest, wanting to get their, now, nightly routine started and over with so Bucky could sneak out and lose himself in drinking, partying and making out with hopeful girls...just so he could forget everything he couldn't have.

A loving father.  
A safe home.  
A nurtured childhood.  
A definitive future.  
And a tiny blond haired boy that would never notice him.  
A tiny blond haired boy he could never have.

And, well, fuck...when Bucky walked into those overly familiar hallways and his eyes caught the warmest color of blond he had grown to known so well these past three years...his jaw dropped and, for the first time, he didn't care if anybody saw his eyes sweep across the flood of students and stick onto the statuesque body of a very stretched out Steve Rogers. 

Holy fucking shit. 

Bucky could already feel the bruises forming along his rib cage for the fury of words he wanted to spill out at his father later that night, very intently informing his father about exactly who he wants, and exactly what kind of perverted kind of person he truly was. To his father, he would always be broken. And, well, Bucky no longer gave a fuck. Except, he did. So, he never said those fuming words. He just buried it back down, but vowed to refuse to hide his acrions. His words, he could hide. But, his drifing eyes, no, he wouldn't hide those anymore.

His family might have known. His father. His mother. His sisters. Hell, even his friends k i n d o f knew, but Bucky never officially said one way or the other. He didn't care. He let his eyes trail over boys. He let his eyes trail over girls. He would kiss and kiss and get more drunk and kiss some more and drink more and kiss some more and drink and drink... He found the more liquor rushing through his veins, the easier it was to imagine floppy blond hair and soul welcoming blue eyes fluttering closed as he kissed soft pink lips. His heart would always shatter when he would open his eyes back up and the perfect hologram of Steve would pixelate and vanish into the blackness of the nights Bucky spent like this. The nights Bucky choked on his own buried words of all the things he wasn't strong enough, after all, to say outloud. 

But, tonight, Bucky just wanted to dive into the wavepool of amber colored crests and falls, let the burn of the whiskey try and snuff out the sour memories of his homelife, of his never fully there friends, of the overcompensating girls...of the lack of the one connection he just could never bring himself to latch onto and build. No. He had panicked every fucking time he built up enough nerve. 

He didn't want to taint the simple beauty that flowed out from Steve's skin...the simple beauty that colored along the rough edges of Bucky's grays, that pulsed life into the wilting threads of where Bucky's strength once strung and melodically beat soul into the universe for Bucky to feel. No. He had lost his music, his colors...he couldn't take away Steve's. It wasn't fair. 

So much of Bucky's life just wasn't fair. 

And even the good whiskey couldn't calm that thought into submission. 

Bucky's life wasn't fair, and he wanted a new deck of cards and a new hand and a new stack of poker chips and a hell of a better poker face to throw down a string of Aces and pull all of the hard earned winnings into his arms and against his chest and bury his face into the multicolored plastic chips and just breathe in the moment of what winning for once truly felt like. Run on sentences be damned! 

So, when a shuffle broke into his silence, his could feel the acidic anger boiling from deep within his stomach, buried from deep underneath the bruises and sharp twinges of painful reminders. 

And, just like that...the darkness he had been buried in for so long had breathed warmth into the cold, pushing it out from the sharpened and angled edges that had been closing in on him for so long...bleeding the most vivid shades of colors Bucky had long since forgotten even existed...or even COULD exist in his world anymore. The softest yellow paling in the dimmed light up there on that lone rooftop had enough force to radiate the entire universe, and Bucky never wanted to shield his eyes away from it. 

He watched. Selfishly, he watched. From the safety of the shadows blanketing around him. He watched as Steve lowered himself down, drinking whatever was left in that vibrant red solo cup in his hands. Bucky couldn't believe the color red could touch something as pure as Steve without it seering his skin. Bucky couldn't believe the color red could actually calm and illuminate any emotion other than bone crunching fury. But, as Bucky was slowly realizing...colors mixed and mashed out of Steve in ways Bucky had never touched, had never seen before. He spent a few more selfish, so selfish, moments watching, as Steve stared up to the night sky, his features softening as his blue eyes flickered across the faint traces of the stars. 

And Bucky couldn't last any longer. 

He stepped a shaky foot out from behind that same selfish safety of the shadows and held it out in front of him, almost expecting the roof to collapse out from under him and swallow him back into some dark abyss he had long forgotten about and suffocate on the aloneness...on the grays and muted agonies he had become just too familiar with. His toe tapped the surface, testing, hoping. 

With eyes closed and a held breath, Bucky stepped down, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, slamming his presence out past the safety of the shadows edges. He still had enough of the whiskey buzzing through his nerves to dull down the chaotic misfirings his body was burning through. 

And, when the moment had stretched to a near lifetime, he could feel the words forming and echoing in his throat. 

"Music too loud for you too?"

Steve just stared. It was another entire lifetime before Bucky could see Steve's lips move, could dive into the smoothness of Steve's voice, the flow of the words flooding out of him. He watched the smoothness, the ease of motions, like a tidal wave crashing with the most fiercest rush of undertow, swallowing and washing Bucky away from the safety of the shore and deep down into the unknown where Bucky has always wanted to be. 

"Something like that..."

And Bucky laughed. From somewhere in his stomach. And it felt odd. A genuine laugh. A laugh, not forced, not half meaning, not filled with lies and secrets. 

"They're too much to deal with, sometimes. I don't blame you."

And they won't even notice that I'm gone. 

"Steve, right?"

Ha. He knew he name was Steve. Holy fuck, did he know. But, nobody else had. Nobody else had known. Not even after all these years. He was sure none of his friends had ever even notice Steve before this year started. They all knew his name now. All wanted to be his friend. They all saw how the girls all threw themselves at him and wanted, by association, catch whatever ones didn't stick to the gravitational pull of Steve.

But, Bucky had. Only, without Steve ever having known. 

Watching Steve silently join into the awkward conversation Bucky was so desperately attempting, Bucky scrambled to keep any sort of interaction with Steve alive. So, Bucky shifted closer, somehow grasping all of his nerves together in the shakiest of hands and managed to move his legs and lower himself down next to Steve. The look of absolute shock spread over Steve's face, and Bucky needed to get it away. Fuck, Bucky. Say more words. 

"You ready for high school to be over as much as I am?"

"Didn't seem like it was all that bad for you."

If Bucky hadn't been so focused into every detail of Steve, right down to the soft breaths escaping past his lips, Bucky may have missed his words, barely above a whisper. Bucky couldn't help but laugh. No, it didn't seem all that bad. But, then again, Bucky smiled his way through it all, and nobody ever knew. A small speckle of pride bubbled inside of him, knowing he had become THAT good at pretending, that he had had everyone fooled. But, tonight, he was just so tired. He didn't want to pretend anymore. He didn't want to have to smile. He didn't want to...

"Guess it looked like that, huh?"

His eyes drifted towards the sky. He had always loved the stars. He had always loved the notion that they traveled so far just so you could see them, and barely anyone noticed. Only when the sky was clear and there were no clouds or ambient lights fighting their way into the muddled shades of blacks and sleeping grays...did anybody ever notice the stars. Just like Steve. 

Nobody down in that overcrowded apartment deserved to see Steve. Not now. 

"I don't think I could have handled this all the time for four years." 

Handled all of this...what...fake, frabricated, overly dramatic, underwhelmingly unloving and painfully uncaring mess that had been his life all this time? Fuck. Bucky was barely handling it. He slowly shifted his eyes back over to Steve...wondering if Steve would ever actually know what kind of person Bucky really was, buried deep inside his own skin.

"Not a fan of your new attention I take it?"

Something flickered across Steve's face, mimicking something much like disbelief that Bucky recognized the shift in the student mass of attention. 

"Not the kind of attention I was hoping for." 

Steve turned away from Bucky at that point. Bucky thought he saw something else filter onto to Steve's expression. But, before Bucky could manage a decent response, Steve's soft voice broke out again. 

"Nobody saw me before, so it wasn't something I was really looking for..."

"Back when you had paint all over your clothes, even when you didn't have art that day, and your hair flopped every which way?" 

The way Steve's head snapped and turned at Bucky's reply caused the blond hairs on Steve's head to flop carelessly with the motion. Deep blue eyes wide with confusion, staring directly at Bucky. To be honest, the way Steve's hair used to flop recklessly across Steve's forehead was one of Bucky's favorite things about Steve. It triggered some feeling deep underneath the shadows his heart made, pulling and scratching its way towards the surface, pressing fiercely against Bucky's ribs, begging to break free. The carefree cascading of hair along the fair skin, breaking the oceanic puddles of blues into fragments that could easily shoot and soar into the pores of Bucky's soul...every time Bucky would see Steve...he just...

"You...you saw me?"

Every.  
Single.  
Fucking.  
Day.

'No. Maybe, don't come on that strong. Pull it back. Maybe, toss in a smirk. Okay, there you go...'

"Never didn't notice you." 

"I...I just...I mean...I always thought..."

"Because I had girls falling all over me?" 

Bucky could feel his hardened, confident exterior cracking. The whiskey that had been coarsing through his veins must have found a damn buried somewhere in the bends and twists of his blood supply, steering his words, his emotions directly into the nearest, rockiest formation of this treacherous sea adventure he had thrown himself on. Only, Bucky was entirely alone. All he could hear ringing in his ears were the upchurning swells of the oceans tides, eerily sounding much like his father's venomous words spoken to him his entire life, pulling back on themselves, building and building, waiting to crash and suffocate Bucky where he sat. 

"Never were my thing."

Waves crashing. Water surging. Air escaping. Body sinking. Mind fading. Heart racing. World shifting. Lungs suffocating. Universe fading. 

Speaking those words, truthfully, for the first time...to the one person...oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.

...Air collecting. Lungs expanding. Body swimming. Blue sky resurfacing...

No. Not the sky...

Swallowing whole into the depths of warmth and safety, Bucky found his home. He found his footing. He found he calm. 

"Something on my face?"

"I...I didn't...know."

And, just like that, his foot slipped, dipping back down below that widening watery surface, murky and clouded, pulling him back down until his head submerged and all he could somehow manage to do was thrash and thrash and thrash.

"Not many people did before this year. Never really cared what they thought, but...never bothered to share it with the class. Guess, enough turned away girls finally put it together. Guess kissin' wasn't enough." 

From below, Bucky could only faintly make sense of the shifting movement to the side of him. As he floated weightlessly, held down by the guilt and fear and desire to spread himself out amongst the waves and set himself finally free, he could just make out the twisting of Steve's fingers in his lap, blurry and shifting in out of focus as he still thrashed his way, fighting to rise his head back up from the freefalling waves. 

"Oh." 

Soft, soft, soft spoken words. Just loud enough to flush the noise of the rushing waves out of Bucky's thoughts. Focus, Bucky. No. Deflection. Don't let on. 

"Hey, good news for you, right? Nobody blocking your chances with what's her name now, right?" 

Nudge his shoulder. Keep it playful. Keep up with the deflection.

"Oh, uhm, I guess." 

The way Steve shrugged his shoulder away from the contact Bucky made with him pressed down onto Bucky's heart, vessels constricting, chambers imploding, blood stilling. No, Bucky would never be able to have Steve. His touch alone caused Steve to pull away. What had Bucky even thought was going to happen...telling Steve his deep buried truth? Steve would never feel that way about him. Steve would never see him the way Bucky saw him. As much as Bucky wanted to pretend to not care anymore...as much as he wanted to live lie free...when the chance finally reared it's awaiting head above that murky surface...Bucky panicked. 

Bury it. Bury it, Bucky. Way down. Where no one will find it. Deflect. Avoid. Ignore. Pretend. 

"Oh, c'mon! I saw her down there. Pretty sure she had you undressed in her head the first second you walked in the door!" 

Bucky's voice was too high, too shrill, too enthusiastic. Fuck. Fuck. He'll know. Steve will know and...

"She's..uhm...not my thing?" 

If the nerves and tendrils and whatever else is stuck in behind those eye sockets, Bucky's eyes would have popped out and rolled across the rooftops surface. What?! Did...did Steve just say...did he...this entire...all of these...what?! Air seemed to dissipate around them, billowing up into the air away from one another, leaving the both of them breathless without having had made any movements. 

No more deflection. No more avoiding. No more ignoring. No more pretending. No more lying. No more burying. No more hiding.

Bucky couldn't help but wonder if this is what reckless means. Letting himself just float, arms spread out to his side, palms open wide, head tipped back, eyes closed, just waiting to fly away and feel the softness of the clouds and the burning of the stars fiery compositions kissing along his skin, not caring about the crash back to the earth beneath him. Just rising, rising, rising. 

Before he could let that same swelling crest rise and crash back down on him, Bucky leaned over, feeling the snap of the rusted chain breaking off the weighted anchor that had kept him dormant for so long, letting the rush of weightlessness lift him back onto the clearing blue surface of the waters edge, letting his body float and surf along the curling swells. The press of his lips against Steve's softened pink ones breathed fresh puffs of the purest oxygen back into Bucky's lungs, helping lift Bucky lighter and lighter along the crystal clear ocean surface. 

Even if this was what reckless had meant, Bucky would live a life of absolute abandonment, just to feel the press of Steve against him, just to feel, for the first time, that he could finally float above the surface, that he could finally breathe.


	7. Please

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky's POV
> 
> Hope you like it.

If someone were to ask Bucky what his favorite color was, his typical go-to answer was red. Simple. Generic. But, pulling back from pressing softly against Steve's lips, Bucky very easily found his new favorite spot on the spinning chromatic wheel. 

Blue.

But, this wasn't just any shade of blue. No. This blue was a shade one could only find in the middle of exotic island waters, the part where man hadn't yet traveled to, leaving it's beauty pure and unfiltered. Where adventurers could only dream of to explore along the speckled patches of green spread across the vast openness of the cool hue. The shade of blue that would bend and stretch, running so far and so deep that the only choice anyone could have would be to dive head first into it's abyss, drowning yourself in the varying contrasts and melting palettes to create the perfect blend. 

And, this blue...this blue would belong to Steve, and only Steve. And Bucky knew, sitting back on his thighs, knees digging into the surface of the roof, cradling either side of Steve's hips, he knew he would dive into them, arms spread out wide from his sides, crashing and sinking into the safety of the pull, drinking and gulping in the essence of the one person they belonged to like he had been deprived of it his entire life. 

In that moment, Bucky realized, he had been deprived. Deprived of the pull that radiated out from deep within Steve. And Bucky went willingly, crashing into Steve's orbit, never wanting to float away. 

The sudden rush of air returning back to Bucky's atmosphere rapidly filled his lungs, heaving his chest in and out. With recklessness and adventure coursing through his veins, Bucky knew where he needed to be, and who he needed to be with. A strange rooftop in the middle of the city was not where it. 

So, he leapt, maybe, possibly, yeah, definitely, a little too quickly back, landing soundlessly on the balls of his feet, space foolishly placed between him and Steve. No. Too far away. The streak of panic etching across that blue Bucky was falling deeper and deeper into knocked the newly returned oxygen out of his chest. No. No. No! 

Bucky quickly reached out, desperate to pull Steve back to him, desperate to pull himself back to Steve. And, with that reach, that stretch to close the gap between them, Bucky watched as that panic dissipated beneath the vibrancy of the blue in Steve's eyes. With that small shift of movement, Bucky felt, spreading like a wildfire through the driest of lands, the most genuine smile he had ever felt across his lips. Because, in that moment, Bucky could see Steve feel that same shift. Even as Bucky wrapped his fingers around Steve's wrists, forcing that gap even smaller, the laugh that trickled out from his throat was filled with more radiance than he had ever heard before. 

"C'mon you idiot. I wanna show you something."

Before Bucky could even wrap his swirling head around his movements, he was already falling ino the next, feet silently stomping with each step. With Steve trailing behind him, he threw himself over the security of the concrete ledge of the rooftop, dancing down the flaking rusty steps of the fire escape. His eyes flicked back and forth between the world beneath his feet and the universe above his head. 

The press of his sneakers against the cement sidewalk barely registered across Bucky's body. His entire bodily flow was weightless, floating across the surface, one gentle breeze away from letting go and drifting away into the starry night sky. Rhythm flooded through his bones, melodies bending and dipping his limbs along to the silent beat of his own symphony, twisting and dodging him between the slowing streams of passing traffic. His musical ending with the sudden pause of bright yellow in front of his feet. 

A cab. A cab to take them anywhere. No. To take them to where Bucky needed to be, to where he wanted Steve to be, with him. To the place Bucky could always find peace, where he could always find the parts of him he kept losing along the way, where he could trace back like a scene out of Hansel and Gretel. Only, instead of bread crumbs, Bucky could follow the broken off bits of himself. 

Steve was still so far away. So far away. Too much space between. 

"C'mon, Stevie. Get in!"

Stevie? Where did THAT name come from? Huh. Strange. As much as Bucky loved the way the letters of Steve's name coated across his tongue, the warmth from calling out 'Stevie' radiated throughout him. 

Bucky thought he knew what reckless had felt like. The freedom he found within it. He thought reckless felt like when he broke out of the shadows on the rooftop. He thought reckless felt like leaning forward and pressing lips to lips. He thought reckless felt like descending down the fire escape with Steve following after him, wordlessly and wholeheartedly. He thought reckless felt like the smooth gliding between oncoming traffic hailing a cab. He thought he had felt the pull of being reckless. 

But, when Steve stepped off of that sidewalk, stepped and stepped, one foot after the other, closer and closer towards Bucky, closer and closer towards the waiting cab...Bucky found he hadn't felt truly reckless at all. No. 

Bucky had been fearless.

All of his life, Bucky had been afraid. Afraid to feel. Afraid to see. Afraid to...exist. And, as each step Steve took, Bucky could feel that vice grip of his fear loosening and fading, gently releasing him free of all he had been suffocating under. 

So, Bucky pried open the back door to the cab, gripping the metal beneath his fingers, standing, waiting, watching...as Steve climbed into the worn out leather of the back seat, fearlessly following along with Bucky to wherever the world took them that night. 

\--------------------

The melodic thrum of the tires racing across the emptying city streets lulled Bucky into an unfamiliar calm. As he watched the world blur by him just outside the finger print stained windows of the cab, Bucky could easily float off into the lure of the blended neon city lights...if not for the bone tingling fire that was pulling him back into place...the fire that was sitting just next to him. As Bucky pressed his body deeper into the tattered leather backseat, he pulled himself back away from the invitation of the swirling world outside the metal and glass enclosure, letting the rush of life wash over him. 

The cab driver slowed to a stop, resting parallel to the wooden boardwalk planks, warping slightly from years of salty ocean kisses and adventurous rubber covered soles. Bucky dug deep into the pocket of his jeans, fingers wrapping around crumbled bills, all but throwing the wad at the driver, pushing the door open and stepping out into the night air without expecting any change in return. The freedom of the night was worth every penny that Bucky had thrown at the driver. 

The soft brush of the oceans breezes fluttered the thin fabric of Bucky's shirt, dancing his hair across his skin, feeling as his pores swallowed up the salt in the air. His eyes rolled, closing eyelids, and he let the sensation of his sanctuary flood along his nerves. There had always been something so soothing about the ocean. Something that pulled at him when he would find himself spent too long away from the shorelines. He always found it amusing that the ocean was his source of calm, knowing just how violent the water can be. How, in just one perfect swell, one perfect undertow, one perfect concoction of currents...it could sweep anyone away into a forever chasm of murky depths, swallowed whole in blues and sands and seaweeds, becoming just another sunken ship along the deepest depths. But, maybe that was the draw. Maybe that was what called to him. The violence so apparent, so instilled, so resting along the surface that, at any moment, could break out and crash so viciously to its surroundings. But, just above that surface, was that stillness, that silent waiting. Bucky saw himself in the ocean. He saw himself in the rise and fall of the waves, of the stillness of the wait, of the curiousness of when the violence buried just beneath his surface would swell and swallow all of his surroundings. 

But, for tonight, at least, he knew that that trembling violence would lap at the shores, surrendering to the calm Bucky so desperately needed. So, he stepped along the creaking boardwalk, leaping over the shaking railing, landing flawlessly into the sandy surface below. He pulled at his shoes and socks, letting them bury themselves into the beach on either side of him. He bent down, rolling the cuffs of his jeans up, rolling up to just below his knees. The squish of the sand between his toes was so familiar, he relished in the way his body melted into it. With practiced steps, Bucky had found his way to the receeding shoreline, stepping purposefully into the cool Atlantic waters. It was then, with the salty waters kicking up to his bared skin on his legs that he pulled himself back into his reality unfolding around him. 

He was free. 

Just as Steve stepped into the same cooled lapping waters with him. 

He was finally free. 

Life had twisted and pulled, punched and kicked, faded and sharpened in ways Bucky didn't want to think about anymore. Nope. Not at that moment. He wanted to feel the pure weightlessness of these moments, let them build and build and topple over all of those other moments scratching inside his head. He was finally free, and he wanted Steve to be free with him. Bucky wanted to run and dive and play with all of those emotions he's had to ignore. So, he kicked his feet in the ankle deep water, feeling the slowness the water pressed against his momentum. Water splashed across Steve's legs, and as Bucky watched the denim of his jeans darken, Bucky knew, this was where he was meant to be all along. 

\------------------------

When the water hung awkwardly onto their jeans, and their breaths heaved in and out of their chests, Bucky and Steve had found themselves resting on top of the sandy beach, just out of reach of the breaking waves. Bucky had let himself fall back, arms spread out wide, inviting the sky above him into himself. The ocean below his feet, the sand beneath his back, and the entire universe blanketing above him...Steve just to the side of him. 

He was really there. Bucky couldn't properly retrace the moments leading to this spot in his timeline. He didn't really care, either. All that mattered, right now, in that moment, was that Bucky was free, free with Steve. And, when he turned, just to make sure this all was really true, all really happening, Bucky caught Steve looking at him, blushing and twisting his head back away. 

"You're missing it."

"Huh?"

As though an other worldly force was acting on behalf of Bucky, his body was pulled up, arms reaching out to touch Steve's skin, grasping and falling back into the sandy ground beneath them both. He needed Steve to feel what he was feeling. He needed Steve to understand what this place meant. He needed Steve to have a part of him...in case...in case he could never come back here. 

He knew what was going to happen at the end of the summer. He knew what might happen when he steps off onto foreign land. He knew he might never see the stars like this again. Not the way he is seeing them tonight. 

"This is one of the few places I know of that you can see this many stars."

Bucky knew other places existed, ones without the overpowering city lights, dulling the shimmer of the sparkling lights. He knew there were places that he could probably see forever, past where his eyes could ever reach. He knows those places exist. But, this place...this place was his. And, now, it can be Steve's.

It can be theirs. 'It can be ours.'

"I know they're just balls of gas, and by the time we even see them, they've mostly already burned out..."

The words spilled out from him. His head tipping to the side. Why did they have to fade out like that? Why did the stars have to fizzle out after just one night? But, then again, maybe that was all Bucky needed. The stars would burn and reach, painting across galaxies and vast emptiness to reach him, settled anonymously on some sandy beach in the expansive universe...reaching him and covering him, blanketing him with their beauty, spending the nights with him when he needed them most, becoming his most sought out one-night stands...ones that never expected anything from him in return. And, when the morning light would steal them away from him, he could kiss them all, one last time, and make the walk back home...buried under the warm memories of their night spent together, no names, no shame, no expectations. Just...memories.

"...but, for one night, they shine and connect an entire world with everything that is beyond our reach. Everyone looks at the same stars. No matter who we are, no matter who we are...we all get to see the same lights shining down on us, letting us know it's okay to wish for a better life, a better circumstance, a better moment in time. And, without demanding anything in return, it gives us that small piece of hope to believe all of our wishes could come true. Even if we know they won't actually come true...there's that split second where we get to believe it could." 

Bucky could feel Steve's ocean painted eyes wash over him. For a moment, Bucky wondered if Steve would judge him, think so harshly against him, against the way Bucky felt about the wordless emotions he had with the stars. Bucky could feel the rise of panic swelling inside of his stomach. No. He needed Steve to understand. He needed him to. 

"Stevie?"

His throat burned at the half second it took for the word to breach his lips. 

"Yeah?"

And, with that soft, whisper reply, Bucky spilled out what he needed to know. He kept his eyes staring towards the sky, knowing, feeling Steve's eyes still on him. 'Please, understand, Steve. I need you to understand.'

"Do you think, if you were on one side of the world, and somebody was on the other side of the world, that when you both looked up to the sky, looked up at the stars, that for just a moment, you two were actually together, watching them shine just like we are right now?"

'Please tell me you'll still be able to feel me, even when I'm not here. Please, tell me you'll see my face in the burning lights of the stars when I'm gone. Please. Please. Please, remember me. Even...even if I die over there. Why couldn't I have rushed up to you before now? Before I made this choice? Back when...back when I had nothing to regret about leaving? Back when all I could do was run? Please! Please tell me you'll...'

"Yeah, I think so." 

The stars didn't fade. No. They blurred. Swarming together in dark grays, ink blacks, and muddied off-whites. Puddles of salt formed and rained down along his skin. Oceans covering the oceans in his iris'. 

'Please, I need you to understand.'

Ocean waves crashing along the shores.  
Ocean waves crashing along his cheeks.  
Salted water seeping into the sands.  
Salted water seeping into his pores.

'Please, don't leave me.'

He tasted the panic in his throat, on his tongue, against his teeth. 

'Even when I leave you.'

"I'm leaving at the end of the summer."


	8. What If

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve's POV
> 
> Hope you enjoy.

Steve had gotten a job lined up a few days before school ended, running the ferris wheel along the boardwalk for the summer. He knew, once he started college in the fall, he'd barely have time to manage all of his schoolwork, let alone hold down a job. So, he snagged the spot of running the wheel for all of the summer fly by tourists. He didn't mind, though. It was a pretty easy job. He got to spend his days outside in the warm sun, watch out over the ocean, draw in his sketchbook, and, well, the best part...Bucky spent just about every day there with him. 

Some days, Bucky would wander off, lose himself in the swarms of people crowding along the boardwalk. Those days, Steve would always count how long it would take him to spot the familiar mop of hair weaving in and out of strangers. He never managed to get past 7 minutes. He could find that shaggy brown mess from across the city. 

Most days, though, Bucky would wait for Steve, first thing in the morning, and tag along with Steve on his way to work. They'd take the subway together, Bucky would curl into Steve's shoulder, closing his eyes and seemingly trying to grab a few more minutes of sleep. Steve had once told Bucky, early on, that he didn't have to get up so early and go in with Steve, and that he could just meet him later on in the day. Steve only said it once. Bucky just looked at him, and Steve knew there was no arguing. 

When they would get to the boardwalk, Steve would head over to the ferris wheel, turning on the lights and running through his few checklists he had, checking and rechecking to make sure everything was safe. Bucky would always wander away during that time. Steve had watched him, once their routine had become so familiar. Bucky would jump over the railing of the boardwalk, ripping his shoes off, letting them loosely hang in his fingertips swinging by his hip. He would dip his toes into the sand, walking along an invisible path along the shoreline, never flinching when the waves would crash up over his bared ankles. Even on the cool summer mornings, when the Atlantic waters were bordering shivering temperatures. Bucky would wander, aimlessly with some hidden purpose, almost as though he needed to feel the rush of the water against his skin. Steve would watch until Bucky would disappear along into the horizon. And, well, maybe Steve just needed to get some glasses. 

The mornings when Steve had to participate in the weekly staff meetings, all of them huddled into a makeshift circle in the, still, empty boardwalk, Steve would always position himself to face the ocean. Those mornings, Bucky would hop over the railing, just like all the other mornings. He would pull off his shoes, roll up his jeans, dig his toes into the sand, and head down towards the shoreline. Just like all the other mornings. Except, on those Meeting Mornings, Bucky would stray from the norm and flop himself into the sand just above where the waves faded into the shore. He would pull his knees into his chest, wrap his arms tightly around his knees, and stare out into the ocean. Bucky wouldn't move. He would always stay as still as ever, during the entire thirty minute meetings Steve was subjected to. The only subtle shifts Steve could ever pick out were when the soft ocean breezes would come in and flutter the loose strands of Bucky's hair along, dancing into the wind. And, even though Steve could never figure out how, at the exact time when those morning meetings ended, Bucky would always stand, dust off the sand from his jeans, face the ocean, tilt his head to the left, always the left, staring out into the blue surface for a few moments, and then turn and walk along the shoreline, just like all the other mornings. 

It would always be fifteen minutes later that Bucky would make his way back along the just opening storefronts with breakfast. Steve would always be finishing his last few checks when Bucky would reach the metal barricades, warm food, fresh coffee and a soft smile. Both him and Steve would walk over to the closest bench, eat their breakfast (which was always something different that Bucky would want to try) and wait for the first crowd of people to arrive. Then, Steve would head back over, Bucky close behind, and start his work day. Thankfully, Steve's boss was just as much, if not more, as free spirited as Bucky, and never minded Bucky hanging out all day. Steve worked hard and, well, honestly, as Steve had been finding, there really wasn't a soul around that didn't fall easily in love with Bucky's warmth. 

All the girls Steve worked with would try and flirt with Bucky whenever Steve wasn't paying attention. Bucky would always smile, fall into easy conversation, but would wiggle his way closer to Steve. That didn't stop them from all staring and giggling when Bucky would lean back in his designated chair by Steve's side, tip his head back and let the sun soak over him. Yeah, Steve would steal glances on those days, too. And, as much as he tried to convince himself that it was just the heat of the sun warming him throughout, he was slowly realizing it was something else entirely. But, some days, when Steve would catch Bucky from the corner of his eye, when it seemed like Bucky thought Steve couldn't see...Steve would catch a shift in Bucky's demeanor. It never lasted for more than a few seconds, but it would itch at Steve for the rest of the day. 

By the time June had ended and July finally managed to start, Steve and Bucky had spent every day together. Literally. Since that night up on the rooftop at the fresh start of June, they spent all of their time together. After graduation, Steve had wondered why Bucky hadn't gone and gotten himself a summer job to keep himself busy, but after remembering what Bucky had told him that first night they spent on the beach, he very kindly forced himself to never ask himself that question again. He didn't want to think about what was going to happen when September stumbled into their lives. 

And, to make things more heartbreakingly confusing, at graduation, after all of their names had been called and all of the diplomas had been handed out and all of the caps had been thrown into the air, Steve couldn't help but notice the fissure between Bucky and his parents. Sure, Steve had a warped understanding of ideal family dynamics, having it always just been him and his mother. But, Steve's mother was celebrating his graduating from high school with nothing short of standing and shouting for everyone to hear. Yes, that's exactly what she did when his name was called and he trekked across the stage. He could hear three very loud screams. 

His mother.  
Sam. 

And Bucky. 

So, when Steve caught a glimpse of Bucky with his parents and his sisters, Steve felt a twinge of discomfort amongst them. He had thought, that maybe his family were saddened that Bucky was growing old and would actually be leaving them to join the army in a few months. But, Steve couldn't help but sense something entirely different. It wasn't until later that Steve had found out about Bucky's father being furious that Bucky had enlisted, even his mother and sisters were upset. Although, they appeared to be ACTUALLY upset by it, rather than the angry scowl his father had etched on his face. Mixed in with the anger, though, Steve thought he saw something else in Bucky's father's eyes, but couldn't quite place just what exactly it was. So, Steve had always been unsure of the uncomfortable feeling he got that day. And, when Steve had brought it up one night to Bucky, Bucky just shrugged and brushed it off with his usual ease. And Steve hadn't mentioned it since. But, the more Bucky spent with Steve, first morning light all the way until almost the next first dips of color on the sunrise...he couldn't help but think that maybe, just maybe, Bucky didn't want to go home. And, settling in close with that unnamed feeling Steve had gotten at their graduation...Steve couldn't help but wonder if it had anything to do with that look he saw on Mr. Barnes' face.

So, here they were. Early morning on the first day of July, sitting back in their squeaking metal chairs below the lit up ferris wheel, letting the slow warmth of the summer sun melt into them. Steve had his eyes closed, his head tipped up towards the sky. He secretly loved the way the sun would bleed red and orange waves beneath his closed eyelids. It was a color Steve hadn't been able to recreate, and, well, never wanted to. It was a color the world shared with him, and he, selfishly, didn't want to share it with anybody else. Well, maybe, Bucky...

"Don't they shoot off a bunch of fireworks here on the Fourth of July?"

Bucky's soft voice was just as warm as the sun. Steve let it seep in through his veins, let it dance between his bones. He opened his eyes, squinting to let them adjust to the sudden force of all the world's brights colors surrounding him. He looked over at Bucky, who had, apparently, been sitting in the identical position he had just been in. Legs lifted, crossed at the ankles, sneakers pressing against the metal of the barricade. Hands and fingers folded together, resting comfortably against his stomach. Head tipped back, eyes closed, summer sunshine pooling over his sunwashed skin. Steve paused, letting the image burn into his memory. The way Bucky's hair had begun to lighten these past few weeks from the burn of the sun, usually dark brown strands peppered with faint colorings of reds and amber browns, lightening at the curling ends. Freckles spotted across the ridge of Bucky's nose, dancing down onto his cheeks, softly blending in with the tanned, smooth skin. 

"Uhm, yeah. Big thing. Every year."

"Will you watch the fireworks with me?"

Steve felt his stomach clench. Shit. Why hadn't they talked about this yet? How had they gone this long without mentioning when their birthdays were. And why, why oh why, did Steve have to be born on the first holiday where Bucky had finally started to exist in Steve's world? And why, fuck, why did he have the same tradition of fireworks and milkshakes on the beach with his mother? No. He hated thinking that way. He loved his little birthday tradition with his mother. 

Okay, maybe he might have been a little torn about it this year at that very moment, but...

"Uhm. So...uhm, I...I can't."

Bucky opened his eyes, turning his head to face Steve. God, the confusion spread across Steve's face broke him, punched a hole in the soft lining of his gut.

"It's, uhm, it's just that it's actually my birthday...the Fourth of July...and, well, we...me and my mom...we have this tradition... We come down here, grab milkshakes and watch the fireworks. Been doing it since I was born..."

Steve dropped his head, staring down at his twisting fingers. God. No. He didn't want to find a reason to have a bad taste in his mouth when it came to one of his favorite memories he's had of his childhood. His mother had struggled while he was growing up. She never told him that, and she would always brush it off with her radiant smile, always telling him "nothing I do for you is a struggle". He never met his father. He had been killed walking home one night from work when Steve's mother was only 5 months pregnant with him. From the first moments of his life, the first shaky breaths he had taken, it was just him and his mother. And it had been that way for the last seventeen years. Steve had learned to go without, never asking for much, and always appreciating everything his mother did for him. She worked double shifts and extra jobs and always made sure Steve had everything he could ever want, even when he refused to ask. She always made sure Steve had more than enough art supplies, and when Steve had objected, numerous times, she smiled, ran her fingers through his floppy blond hair and would always say, "getting to watch you create the world you see onto these pages and these canvases is worth all the extra shifts and tired nights, honey."

But, Steve would never tell her that he could hear her, sometimes, at night, talking to herself while she fought with the pile of bills on the kitchen table in their small apartment. He would never tell her he could see her scraping half of her dinner helpings into tupperware containers for Steve for the next day, so he would never be hungry. He would never say that he could see the soles of her shoes thinning, threatening holes, when she would drag Steve out to buy new shoes and new clothes for him to wear. That was one of the reasons he always wore clothes splotched with paint and rips and tears. He would wear his clothes out until they were literally disintegrating off of him. Thankfully, he had stayed small for so long. It nearly broke his heart when he had to buy new clothes after his growth spurt. He had tried to tell her he was going to get a job that summer, but she wouldn't allow it. She would always say, "you only get to be a kid once. You have the rest of your life to work." He thought about defying her and getting a job, in secret, when she would come home, practically falling into her bed to attempt and steal a few hours of sleep before she had to get back up and head back into work at the hospital. But, the thought of his mother ever finding out that he went behind her back hurt him even more than the guilt of all she had done, and still did, to provide for him. 

But, in that very moment, looking into Bucky's eyes, then staring down into his fidgeting fingers...he wished that he, maybe, just for a tiny fraction of a second, that he could break from his tradition. No. He shoved that stupid thought away. No. No way. 

And then, Bucky smiled, warm and kind and just as beautiful as always. 

"That's okay, Stevie. I'll just celebrate with you the next night."

Bucky tipped his head back again, closing his eyes, soaking back into the sun's growing warmth. Steve watched as Bucky breathed without an ounce of tension stretching across his body, Steve just about melting into the sly smirk breaking out across Bucky's face.

"I'm pretty sure I can find some fireworks to steal from someone, anyways." 

And, yeah, Steve was pretty sure Bucky was telling the truth. 

\----------------------

The next night at dinner, Steve pushed the food around on his plate. No, he wasn't going to waste it. He would never do that to his mother. He always ate every speck of food she ever made for him. Again, he knew her sacrifices. He was just trying to stretch the minutes between where he had to keep trying to convince his mother out of her decision.

"Baby, it's okay."

"No, it's not, Mom. We've done the same thing every year. I'm not gonna break tradition for some boy."

"You're right. We have done the same thing every year."

Steve looked up. He tried to read his mother's expression. Damn, she was always so good at keeping her emotions in check, keeping her thoughts, her next moves so well hidden from her face. It had to be all those years of working in an emergency room, the way someone must have to carry themselves when they get unruly patients. Or, well, it was probably just the stubborn Irish blood pumping through her, knowing deep down that she wasn't going to lose this battle. 

"But, I've gotten to see seventeen firework shows with you. I've gotten to have seventeen milkshakes on the beach with you. I've gotten to spend seventeen years with you on your birthday."

Steve was fighting for the right words to throw in before his ultimate loss. He could feel it. He knew when he was beat. Dammit, she knew she had won, too. 

"And, I will have seventeen more years after that. And, then some more, after that."

"But, Mom..."

"No, sweetie."

"But, what if I just invite him to come with us?"

His mother had met Bucky already. Several times. On those nights when the sky would break and pour warm rain on top of the boardwalk. Those nights, Steve always got to go home early. And, building on Steve's suspicions, Bucky would find a way to spend the unexpected nights off with Steve. Even if that meant spending quiet nights in Steve and his mother's tiny apartment, watching movies, or listening to music while Steve drew, or curling up into Steve's bed when his mother would work the night shifts. She never minded letting Bucky spend the night with Steve. She had known, from a very young age, how Steve felt about boys. And, much like every other part of Steve's life, she loved him unconditionally. "Baby, as long as your happy, I don't care who you love. I'll just have to work on my left hook more if they ever break your heart.". And, she trusted Steve. She knew he would be smart, that he would make safe choices. ("We haven't done that, Mom!" "Oh, sweetie, I'm just saying!" No, they definitely haven't slept together. ...yet. Other things, well, yeah. A lot. They had trouble keeping their hands off of one another.) So, when he finally stumbled onto the idea to just have the three of them celebrate with his birthday tradition, it wasn't so out of the blue. 

"Sweetie, spend your birthday with Bucky." 

"But, Mom..."

She stood up, walking out from behind her side of the table. She rounded the small table, running her fingers through his hair, gently tracing down his jaw and softly holding his face in both of her hands. She looked into his eyes, the same deep shades of blue as Steve looking back at him. 

"I love you, baby, and I adore Bucky like he was my own. This is my birthday gift to you, sweetie. I already talked to your boss. He gave you the day and the night off. You work so hard, you deserve a day for just you. I have loved watching you grow into the man you have become, and I can't wait to see all the amazing things you are going to do with your life. And, maybe, you'll get to do all of those things with Bucky by your side. You know I definitely wouldn't mind that! But, for just one night, can you just be a regular teenage boy and live it up?"

Steve stared helplessly up at his mother. Her eyes were always so soft, so inviting, so sure. She kissed the top of his head, in an almost punctuation to her argument, finalizing their discussion. She pulled back, warm smile on her face.

"Yeah, Mom, I guess I can do that."

She kissed his head again, gently letting go of his face as she turned back to her seat. 

"Good. Now, finish eating."

Steve smiled, his entire body soothing under the loving embrace of his life that his mother had created for him. He would never be able to understand how he got to be so lucky to be the son of someone like her. He was never too sure about religion, but he was more than positive, that if angels actually existed and walked amongst them, his mother was definitely one of them. 

He licked his entire plate clean. Then, while gently forcing his mother out into the living room so she could rest on the couch, Steve washed and dried the dishes, smiling from ear to ear the entire time. 

And, if Steve had been staring at the clock, counting down the seconds until the morning so he could tell Bucky the good news...then, well, no, he was definitely counting them. 

\--------------------------

When morning finally decided to show up, Steve was already awake. Showered and dressed. Pacing in front of the doorway, waiting for Bucky to buzz from below. It was the day before Steve's birthday, and even though it was his mother's birthday gift to Steve, he couldn't help but think that maybe, in a small way, it was a gift to Bucky, too. So, Steve paced, and waited, and waited, and paced, and fought with the clock to move faster. 

Steve and Bucky had established their own little routine this past month, and Bucky was never late. So, when Steve's mother opened the door after her shift, the look of confusion was a very mirrored expression that Steve had been wearing for the past 45 minutes. 

"Hey, sweetie. Aren't you going to be late?"

Steve couldn't find any words. His cell phone was clamped in his hand, knuckles white and finger tips numb from the panicking grasp he held on it. His mother noticed and Steve could see her chest rise and fall faster. Not as fast as Steve's though. He was heaving, breathless. Not the good kind. 

"Steve, sweetie...where is Bucky?"

For all the things his mother is and has done for him, the calming presence she somehow always found astounded Steve...and he was eternally grateful for it at that moment. Her words were soft, even if her eyes flickered with fear. Steve had shared his feelings about why Bucky seemed to never want to go home. She had reassured him that Bucky was a smart boy, and knew he was always welcome in their home and in her arms if he ever needed anything. And, if something were happening, she had told Steve that, until Bucky said something, or that they had proof...there wasn't a whole lot either of them could do. 

When she had told him that, Steve had cursed himself for having quick, clothed make out sessions...and half-clothed blowjobs. Bucky had never taken off his shirt around Steve...and Steve never thought anything of it. Until now. 

"I don't...I don't know, Mom. I tried calling. I tried texting. He's...he didn't...I don't...oh, god, Mom...what if...what if I was right about all of that...?"

She was quickly by his side, pulling him into her comforting arms. 

"Sweetie, it'll be okay. He's okay. Maybe, it was just a busy morning for him. Maybe he overslept. Why don't you try calling him, one more time."

Steve took a deep breath. He wished it was a little bit more of a sturdy inhale, but it was shaking almost as badly as his hands were while he fumbled with his phone. He pressed on Bucky's name, bringing it up to his ear. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. 

The phone cut out. Someone had ignored the call from the other side. Panic bubbled into Steve's throat, twisting his tongue tightly. 

"Mom..."

She kissed the top of his head. 

"Sweetie, you're going to be late. Why don't you head to work, and I will make a few calls, okay?"

"I can't go to work without knowing!"

"Steve, I need you to take a deep breath, okay? Can you do that for me?"

Steve tried. Several very unsure inhales and exhales. He knew what she meant by the phone calls. He knew she would try and call the hospital and see if Bucky's name had shown up anywhere. Steve could barely breathe around the lump in his throat at the thought that there might actually be a chance that Bucky had to go to the hospital. 

"Sitting here will not do anything, watching and waiting for time to move. I told you that I will make a few calls, to see if he showed up anywhere..."

Steve did NOT like that break in her voice...

"...I will call you and let you know. You need to get to work, now, though. You have a responsibility."

"But, Mom...what if..."

She smiled, not quite the way she usually does, and that pulled at Steve even more.

"He's going to be okay, sweetie."

She stood, arms outstretched, pulling him in for another hug. She wrapped him tightly, saying things he know she wanted, but wouldn't...for his sake. 

"Now, off to work. Okay?"

Steve nodded, surprised he could even manage that small action, dragging his feet through the front door. 

\----------------------

The subway ride to the boardwalk was blurred. Faces, voices, colors, sounds...all of it. Empty. Steve was just going through the motions. Steve tried calling Bucky three more times. 

The first call, it rang four times before being hung up on Bucky's end. Steve's feet stumbled up the stairs from the subway stop.

The second call, it rang twice before being hung up on Bucky's end. Steve's feet criss crossed along the sidewalk. 

The third call, it didn't even ring. It went straight to voicemail. Steve's feet tripped over the wooden blanks of the boardwalk. 

By the time Steve finally managed to make it to the ferris wheel, air was suddenly difficult to find in all that open space. The salt from the ocean burned his tongue. The wide open blue sky was suffocating. 

It wasn't until he took a deep breath, trying to steady his racing heart, and turned towards the ocean behind him. The water seemed to always calm Bucky. Maybe it could work for Steve. 

Bucky.

Steve would know that shaggy mop of hair anywhere...

There he was, curled up in the sand, body tense and eyes facing towards the sea, where the three different shades of blue melted into one another. A blue sky crashing into a blue sea all before blue stormy eyes. 

And, just like that, Steve found himself airborn, body leaping over the railing of the boardwalk, landing onto the sand below. His feet dug into the softness, throwing his balance off, as he ran towards where Bucky was sitting. 

"Bucky?! What happened this morning? I was so..."

Bucky hadn't turned to face Steve. He hadn't even so much as flinched at Steve's voice. When Steve stepped around from Bucky's side, placing himself in between Bucky and the water, did everything start crashing down on him. Bucky's eyes were fixed, spaceless, lifeless. The gray in them drowned out the soft shades of blue he usually had. They looked so haunted. 

The dark purple bruise around his eye, the matching bruising along his jaw and the dried blood etching down the side of Bucky's face told Steve everything.


	9. Gypsum Plaster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of angst. That's a tag, right?
> 
> Also, somewhat involved description of abuse. And the injuries that follow along. And Bucky not dealing well with it. Or Steve, either.
> 
> A lot of not fun, friendly things happen. 
> 
> And alternating POV. 
> 
> I'm sorry if I forgot to warn about something. Let me know if I did.

Gypsum plaster. Paper.  
Gypsum plaster. Paper.  
Gypsum plaster. Paper.

Bucky had never been more trusting of those two things before. Drywall. That was all that was in drywall. That was all that was keeping him safe from his father. Plaster and paper. Seems like such an untrustworthy combination. But, right now, it was all Bucky had to rely on. Drywall and the cheap door blocked by his bedframe. 

"Open this fucking door!"

Take a deep breath. Loud, furious fists. Inhale. Exhale. Slamming on the walls. Inhale. Exhale. Slurred words. He's just drunk. He'll pass out soon. Just wait it out. Inhale. Exhale. 

His mother and sisters had all gone away for the long weekend for Fourth of July. Bucky had opted out of their usual family vacation, wanting to spend as much time as he could with Steve. He hadn't known his father would be staying home as well. Some work excuse, that he couldn't leave during such a busy holiday, or some absolute bullshit along those lines. Bucky didn't think too much of it. His father hadn't laid a hand on him in weeks. He thought that, maybe, his father finally realized he may actually lose his son in just a short few months. That...just maybe...his father might spare a tiny speck of respect towards him because of all that Bucky would be sacrificing to help keep him and the rest of his family safe...free. 

Except, Bucky hadn't been home enough for his father to get a chance to. So, there Bucky sat, in the furthest corner of his room, tucked away inside of his closet, like he had when he smaller. No, younger. Bucky sure as shit felt as small as he did when his father used to do this anytime his mother and sisters were out of the house. His closet wasn't big, by any means, but it wasn't big enough to fit an eighteen-year old huddled under hanging button up shirts and winter jackets. But, the way Bucky had his knees pressed into his chest, his eyes slammed shut and pressing into the tops of his knees, his arms wrapping desparately around his shins...trying so hard to keep himself together...he barely took up half of the closet floor. He had only wished that there was still a door left on his closet, for one more obstacle, at least, between his father and him. But, that was damaged thirty-three fights ago...and, now, Bucky would be exposed if his father made it in. 

Gypsum plaster.  
Paper.  
Gypsum plaster.  
Paper.  
Gypsum plaster......  
Paper......

\-----------------------

Bucky stared out into the ocean. The water rushing up against the shore, ironically, kept him grounded. The way the water rose and broke, building and crashing against the shorelines kept his head from floating away on him. The sun still hadn't risen. He wasn't completely sure what time it even was. He wasn't even sure how he even got to the boardwalk. The last thing he actually remembers is his sneakers slapping against the pavement, taking him away. Away. Away. 

The next thing he knew, he was sitting, ass in the sand, dark night sky above him, cool ocean breeze racing across his skin, shivering in the soft wind, skin stretched tight across his cheek, blood dried and tacky across his face and an incessant pounding radiating between his eyes all the way down to his toes. Each breath he took was shallow, sharp shooting streaks of white blinding behind his eyes when he took anything deeper, his ribs protesting the effort. 

Time had somehow managed to pass by him. Much quicker than he even realized. But, to be fair, Bucky wasn't entirely in the present moment. The sun breaking across the horizon slowly started to warm his exposed skin. 

And it all came rushing back.

The crack of the wood in the cheap bedroom door split away from the lock in the door jam. The metal from the bronze knob clattered to the wooden floorboards of his bedroom, splinters from the wood scattering and floating in the space between Bucky and his father like a somber glitter. Bucky hated himself for that slight moment where he thought about the look on his father's face if Bucky had actually kept a pocket full of glitter and just tossed it right in the asshole's eyes. 

Any flickering thought aside from sheer panic was quickly wiped from the forefront as Bucky's eyes met his father's. 

There is that old saying, something about living one's life without regrets, or waking up one day and not having to look back on an entire lifetime without regrets, or some other form of utter bullshit that Bucky refused to believe. There was absolutely no way that any one person could manage an entire lifetime without having at least one single regret. At not having at least ONE spare moment in time they had wished they could have done over. Magic erased the ever loving shit out of the space and time continuum and got a free pass to just start the fuck over.

Either that, or Bucky was far more fucked up than he had previously relaized, and furiously denied to anyone that asked or wondered. 

Bucky had regrets. Quite the list. Could fit it into an entire leather bound book. Several books. An entire fucking library, filled with the collected works of Bucky Barnes and His Short Lifetime of Regrets. All in small font. 

The newest addition...running his mouth at his father. Normally, Bucky wouldn't give a shit. But, he should have known. He should have smelled the way the booze was practically dripping off of his father's skin. The way he managed to bump into the doorframe and the walls leading from the kitchen to the living room more times than necessary. Bucky should have known better. So, when the words spilled out from behind his teeth, he knew. 

So, he ran.

He leapt up the stairs to his bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him. His feet were moving so fast, he was amazed he made it without tripping over himself. He shouldered the bed frame across the floorboards, scraping the path the bedposts made, trying everything he could to keep the door from shattering open. 

His knees buckled out underneath him as he slid into the corner of the closet, pulling himself into the smallest version of himself, letting his fear rock his tightly wound body as he held his breath, listening, ears so finely tuned to the sound of his father's footsteps trudging up the stairs and down the hallway. 

The room spun and darkened as Bucky waited, watching, glimpsing as his father's eyes glared down at him from across his small bedroom. The next few moments were a rush of stumbling bodies, violent hits, slurred hateful words, and blood spilling across floorboards and bedsheets. One lucky shot, left hook, to the jaw of his father, Bucky had his opening. 

He leapt over his father's slumping body, using his bent over back as leverage to clamber his way over his, now, overturned bed and squeezing his way through the Drunken Asshole Shaped Hole that was once his bedroom door. His feet stuttered along the hallway, echoeing harshly in his ears. He raced down the staircase, his untied shoelace catching and sending him tripping down the last four steps. Bucky's body still far too numb to register if there had been even any new injury as the result. He pulled open the front door, not stopping to slam it behind him, as he jumped down off the wooden steps from the front porch and broke out into a sprint into the darkness of the night.

His chest heaved, in and out, gasping for air. He didn't know where he was going, or what he was even doing, or what the fuck even just happened. That was the worst it had ever been. Sure, Bucky had broken arms and had gotten concussions far too many times, and furniture had been broken enough... But, this time, this was different. There was too much rage behind his father for it to be another one of their usual nighttime brawls. As Bucky's feet slowed, he could feel the stinging on his face, the warm blood still seeping from above his eye and from his nose, or the harsh pull of his ribs as he tried so hard to calm his breathing. No. His father had never left any marks like this. Not all at once. And not on his face. He knew Bucky couldn't explain all those marks to his face, so he never left any there. 

And...Bucky had never swung back.

As the night stretched further into the darkness, further into the silence of the solitude of the sleeping world around him, Bucky stumbled his way to the ocean that pulled him in and calmed him always without having to ask. And, as the sun starting to rise, to stretch and yawn its colors over the wakening world, Bucky let the rush of the night wash over him like a far off crest, swallowing him whole. And his fear settled into his lungs, panic seeping into the bronchioles, branching and weaving, suffocating him into his own shell shocked silence. 

The world started to buzz around him, and he could barely keep himself from unraveling right then and there. If he let his mind wander, or let his words float of him...he would unravel.

He couldn't.

So, he set his jaw and forced his mind to lull into a numb nothingness, allowing silence to wash over him and radiate through him. Silence was safe. Silence was empty. Silence was numb. 

\-----------------

 

Steve sat back on his knees, his heels digging sharply into the hard muscle of his thighs. 

"Bucky?"

When Steve thought, just moments ago, that seeing Bucky's face bruised and bloodied was probably the worst thing his mind could manage to handle...he was, now, suddenly wishing that were even half true. And, as sickly morbid as it was going to sound, Steve found himself wishing for that short expanse of time back. Because, well, seeing the physical aftermath was, ironically, much easier to process and attempt to find a solution. The silent, invisible wounds...Steve couldn't reach them. He couldn't touch them with delicate fingers, softly placing packs of ice over them to calm the swell of the skin. He couldn't wring out the fading yellow washcloth in the lukewarm water, watching as the water shifted from clear to it's varying shades of pinks to reds...all the while, erasing the hurt off of Bucky's cheeks. He couldn't wrap his arms securely around them, keeping them safely enveloped in his tiny little bubble of protection. 

These weren't those kinds of wounds. 

Whatever silent world Bucky was swirling around in, Steve couldn't reach him. And it was killing him. 

"Bucky, please. Please, look at me."

The silence was deafening. It overpowered the rush of the incoming shores, slowly inching their way up the sandy surface, crawling the tide back inland. 

"Bucky? What happened?" 

Another crash of the waves echoed around the stillness between them. If it weren't for the shallow breaths puffing inside of Bucky's chest, Steve could easily have been fooled into believing this wasn't Bucky. But, that it was just a perfectly detailed replica, one of those famous wax sculptures in that place in Paris, or wherever...silhouettes and jawlines picked and cut away from molded waxes, fair attempts at recreating every perfect imperfection the masses all swooned over, all while lifeless eyes stared out from the glossed over skin of whatever-their-name-was. 

The only startling difference between the two was the heaving chest. Bucky's eyes were just as lifeless...and it was becoming downright frightening. The vacancy burning in the graying eyes in front of him sent layering shivers down Steve's spine. That moment, that was the moment where Steve wished he could have frozen and rewound...selfishly allowing himself to never experience that emptiness from those eyes. 

"Can you...can you tell me if you're okay? Do we...you...do you need to go to the hospital?"

Stock silence. 

"...was...was it...wasityourdad?"

Steve wasn't sure his words even rose enough to be heard against the crashing waves. They shook all the way up Steve's throat and stuttered across his tongue before tumbling out of his teeth. 

Bucky's chest froze, between breaths. The muscles in his jaw tensed, twitching underneath his skin. Hurt pooled in his eyes as he flicked the grayed out iris' towards Steve for just a fraction of a fraction of a second before flickering back out to the sea behind Steve. 

Lifeless and silent yet again. 

\-------------

Steve sprinted towards the boardwalk, clinging to his boss' shirt, in a subconscious attempt at steadying his shaking hands, explaining that he needed today off, that something had happened with Bucky. Thank fuck for decent human beings as bosses. He had simply pulled Steve in for a grounding hug, smiled, and reassured him everything would be alright, and he was there for anything, if either Steve or Bucky needed it. 

Steve managed to pry his phone out of the confining pocket of his skinny jeans, quickly pulling up his mother's number. He knew she would be working by now, but she answered after just three rings. 

"Ma...I found him. He's...he's not..."

Oh, fuck, Steve...deep breath. 

"He's not...okay."

"Get both of you here, now."

If anyone were to ask, Steve would debate with everything he had, that his mother, one Sarah Rogers, was the human version of an angel. Pocketing his phone, Steve knelt back down in front of Bucky, grasping for any sign of life in Bucky's eyes. Nothing. 

"Buck? Hey? I'm gonna take you to the hospital, okay?"

Oh, well, there goes another moment where Steve wishes he could freeze, rewind, and do over so fucking quickly. The way Bucky's entire body froze and simultaneously seized and flinched away from Steve was alarming. Bucky's body lifted off from the sand and launched himself a good five feet away from Steve. And, where Steve had been so longing to find any sign of life filling Bucky's eyes, Steve watched as absolute panic flooded across the gray. Steve watched in horror as Bucky's body shivered, shaking, violently rattling his limbs. 

Ohfuckohfuckohfuck! 

"Whoa, hey, whoa...to my mom. She's working. No one will know, I promise." 

Steve hated the fact that he had to add in that reassurance for Bucky. Even if Bucky wasn't able to find words right now, Steve knew this all was from Bucky's father. And, Steve just couldn't understand why Bucky was still protecting that man. Steve just couldn't wrap his head around it. But, that was something for another time. Right now, he needed to get Bucky to a hospital. 

Steve slowly inched his way across the space between them, gently lifting a hand to wrap across Bucky's arm. Bucky flinched at the contact, and Steve recoiled, noticing the darkening mark across Bucky's skin. Steve squeezed his eyes closed, trying to force down the vomit slowly churning and rising up into his throat at the thought of how many more injuries were going to be found on Bucky's body. 

He let out a deep breath, willing that realization away, forcing himself to stay present, stay calm, for Bucky. He opened his eyes, still taken back by how a f r a i d Bucky looked. And, in an odd, fleeting moment, Steve couldn't help but realize that this was the first time he had ever seen Bucky...vulnerable. All those years, Steve had watched Bucky ooze confidence and be downright fearless in every thing he did. But, right now, fear seemed to be all that was consuming Bucky. 

Steve reached out his hand, placing it under Bucky's palm, intertwining his fingers with his. He slowly stood, standing, waiting for as long as it took for Bucky to rise to his feet. Steve honestly couldn't say if it was seconds or days, or whatever in between, before Bucky stood on shaking legs. Steve turned, leading Bucky back towards the boardwalk and over to the sidewalk where Steve hailed a cab. 

He climbed into the back, softly pulling Bucky in behind him, their hands still entwined. Steve had refused to lose the physical contact with Bucky, regardless of how awkward it made to move around. The cab ride was silent. Steve's mind was still trying to play catch up with everything that was happening inside of the tiny little perfect bubble that had been the past few weeks with him and Bucky. And, well, Bucky was still silent, eyes floating back and forth between afraid and empty. 

It was all a bit overwhelming for Steve, but he knew he had to hold it together. He knew that whatever he must be feeling, whatever Bucky was feeling was far more intense and far more real than Steve could even imagine. ...and Steve was imagining a lot, at this point. 

The cab stopped in front of the hospital, right outside of the emergency department. Steve awkwardly pulled out cash for the driver, opening the back door and sliding out from behind the driver, leading Bucky out after him, hand still grasping hand. They made their way inside, Steve's steps followed by silent Bucky steps. By the time they reached the registration desk, Steve's mother was standing in the doorway to the side, a worried smile breaking across her face.

Until she saw Bucky's face. 

Her arms outstretched before anyone could object, pulling both of her boys into the depapartment, embracing them both in a safe, warm embrace. She loosened her grip, letting Steve break free from underneath her arm.

"This way, boys."

Sarah led them both into one of the rooms just inside the locked doorway to the emergency department, closing the door behind her. She turned her direction to Bucky, stepping forward. His face hung down, is sloppy hair falling loosely over his face. Sarah reached out, continuing her stretch even with Bucky's visible flinch, and brushed a lock of wild curls behind his ear, tracing down his jawline. She reached out her other hand and gently framed Bucky's face in her hands, lifting it up so she could look into his eyes. Her eyes searched over his face, taking in all the injuries she could see immediately. 

"Oh, sweetie. I'm so sorry you had to go through this. But, you're safe, now. You're safe here."

She pulled Bucky back into her, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, pressing him safely into her embrace. She stood there for several minutes, just letting her warmth pool around Bucky before turning and walking out the door, closing it again behind her. Steve had led Bucky over to the stretcher, gently pressing on his shoulder to get Bucky to sit down on the thin foam mattress. Bucky sat back, pulling his knees into his chest, wincing and angling his body to allow a deep breath to escape through his lips. Steve grimaced, letting his mind wander to what injury was lurking under Bucky's clothes. 

And that's when Steve finally noticed Bucky's clothes. Aside from Bucky's hair falling in a tangled mess around his face, the collar to Bucky's gray tshirt was ripped, stretched and pulled on the sides, as though someone gripped either side to bring Bucky closer to them. Drops of blood stained down Bucky's chest in an odd sort of pattern, some splotches larger than others, all settled underneath the open cuts that were now clotted on Bucky's face. Bucky's jeans were worn and faded. Steve knew they were Bucky's favorite. But, now, they had a large rip along the thigh and what looked like wood splinters sticking out from the ripped stitching. Bucky's shoes were one of his old pairs, as well, worn well from years of love. One shoelace was untied, knotted and stretched, pulled tightly on one side as though Bucky may have tripped over it recently. 

Steve had just started to take in the purpling marks on Bucky's knuckles when the door opened back up. Sarah walked over to the bedside table, dropping her armful of supplies. Gauze, tape, normal saline bottles, ace wraps and steri-strips. She pulled out the stool from underneath the counter and wheeled her way closer towards Bucky. 

"Okay, sweetie. I'm just gonna get you cleaned up a bit. If it hurts, I want you to tell me, okay?" 

She lowered her head, trying to get his eyes in hers. No luck. If she seemed concerned about Bucky's lack of response to just about everything she was doing or saying, even his utter silence...she didn't let on. Steve couldn't tell if it was for Bucky's sake, or his. Either way, he was eternally grateful. She slid on a pair of gloves, ripped open one of the packages of gauze, soaking them with saline before wringing it out and dabbing gently at the blood on Bucky's face. Steve had to look away when Bucky was continuously flinching, even with his mother's soft touches. That churning vomit sensation was surging its way back up from his stomach. 

Steve sat, feet on the ground, elbows pressed into his knees. He hadn't realized he was pushing down so hard, not until he could feel the numbing tingling sensations radiating down to his toes. His elbows digging into that soft spot where his patella bone and femur bone connected underneath the sheath of tendons and cartilege. He adjusted his weight, letting the jut of his elbows dig into his thigh muscles, letting the flow of blood rush back down to his toes, letting the burn of the returning circulation pulse inside of his skin. He had zoned out after his mother had asked Bucky to lift up his shirt. When Bucky blankly lifted his shirt, Steve couldn't tell what startled him the most.

The zombie-like trance that Bucky maintained as he seemed to just 'go through the motions' or the very large, very nasty looking dark purple and red patch along Bucky's rib cage.

Definitely the rib cage. 

And, for the first time, Steve saw his mother break her steady, even demeanor, and watched as her breath hitched, her hands hangings frozen in the air, and tears fell from her eyes. Her hands fell into her lap as she looked over Bucky again. There was that same mixture of protectiveness and sadness she would have with Steve anytime he came home sick, hurt, or anything other than happy. She had always told him that it was because he deserved the entire world, and the fact that someone tried to snuff out any of his happiness, she felt sadness that Steve had to experience that...and that she, also, wanted to beat the 'fucking shit out of whatever little asshole' made Steve feel that way. Steve knew, with just one look at his mother, that she was thinking of unfriendly ways to approach Mr. Barnes in whatever near future. 

Sarah took another deep breath, pushed her shoulders back, and outstretched an ace wrap, gently wrapping it around Bucky's waist, tight enough for some relief, but loose enough as to not compress or cause any future damage. 

"Will you let me get some xrays done? Of your arm, your cheek and your ribs?" 

Bucky stared down at his feet. 

"I just want to make sure nothing is broken." 

"I know what broken bones feel like." 

Steve's breath caught the same time his mother's had. Bucky hadn't spoken in a few hours, and his voice was barely above a whisper...but, it was the words he spoke that devastated them. Steve couldn't believe it. Bucky had broken enough bones to KNOW how it actually felt?! 

The world was starting to shift in that uncomfortable way where consciousness suddenly decided to stop existing and oxygen forgot how to photosynthesize itself from all the fucking plantlife known to mankind...and Steve needed to keep reminding himself to take those annoyingly important breaths. 

Sarah reached out, lowering Bucky's shirt back down, reaching up and gently placing her hand on one of his bent up knees. 

"Steve is going to take you home, okay Bucky?"

And then, just like at the beach, Bucky's head shot up. Fear seeping back into his widening eyes. His entire body starting to tremble on the stretcher, causing the siderail behind him to shake under the vibration. 

"No, no sweetie, no. Back to our apartment. Not your home. Never your home again. You hear me? I know you are eighteen, legally an adult, so you don't have to say anything about what happened...but, you always have somewhere safe to go. You always have a home with Steve, with me. Okay?"

Steve wasn't sure if it was the way his mother kept her voice calm and reassuring, or that she spoke so protectively about BOTH Steve and Bucky, and referred to that one tiny apartment as 'home' for the three of them...but, whoever Steve was thanking hours ago about decent bosses, he needed to shift and thank them all fucking over again for amazing mothers. Send them, like, a fruit basket or an entire fucking orchard. 

Sarah waited until Bucky's body had stopped visibly shaking, enough at least for the stretcher to stop rattling. She dumped another armful of supplies into a bag for Steve and led them out of the side door entrance to the emergency department. She stood with both of them until a cab arrived, hugging both of them tightly before they climbed into the cab, driving off towards the apartment building.

Bucky hadn't said anything since the few words he spoke at the hospital, but Steve hadn't pressed, either. His head was still slightly sopping wet from the tidal wave of life events that just happened within the last few hours, still struggling to find the shoreline in the mess of it all. 

Bucky reaching over and interlocking his fingers again with Steve's was enough of an anchor to help settle Steve. 

For now, it was enough.


	10. Thunder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for description of child abuse.

Bucky slowly opened his eyes, letting the world seep back in, well, letting as much of it in as his swollen eye will let him. A perfect summer day, filled with that unnameable full body emotion of hope, and light, and beauty, and...and...the unshakeable knowledge that one could take on the whole damn fucking world and not one thing could stop them. Those days don't happen often, but this definitely would be one of them. The sun was shining brightly, seeping in through open windows, warm breezes brushing over his skin, eyes matching the blue from the crystal clear sky. 

Except, Bucky couldn't see through the haze clouding his sight. It happened, a lot. Those 'next mornings' when Bucky sat awake, knees pulled tightly into his chest, heart somehow still managing to stay inside of his chest and not pound its way right through all of his flesh and bone, mind ricocheting off the harsh interior of his skull, eyes bleary and begging for sleep, only sleep never actually comes. Yeah, Bucky had a lot of those mornings. More than anything, Bucky wished today wasn't one of those. 

Even if it were actually closer to afternoon by this point. 

Very few things were definite at that moment. He had tried to itemize them at one point within the past few hours, but everything started to hurt too much, and Bucky was getting pretty fucking tired of hurting all the god damn time. He had wanted it all to just stop. Just stop for one fucking second so he could breathe. Just take in one fucking breath. But, he couldn't even do that. Because his throat was on fire, the muscles around his windpipe shrieking in pain, sharply recalling the large hands wrapped around them earlier. He couldn't take in a fucking breath because his nose was clogged up with all of his blood, clotted and suffocating him inside of his own skin and cartilage. He couldn't take in just one stupid little fucking breath because his ribs, now bounded with ace wrap, ground against themselves in utter protest, begging, pleading him to forget how to actually breathe anymore because the pain was just too much. 

Everything was just too much. And Bucky wanted it all to just stop. 

But, the entire fucking world kept moving, kept shifting. All the while, Bucky had been slipping, as his entire world tilted past the point where his axis could have kept him safe. That point laid perfectly jutted between the moment where he swung at his father and all the other times he never raised a finger to defend himself. Now...now he was sliding away from where those moments meet, and where he once had been clawing for anywhere to grip, to grasp, to keep himself in place...he had his fingers outstretched and his body free falling into plateau of uncertainty and desolating fear that awaited him. 

His entire mind was screaming at him. As desperately as Bucky had been begging to be able take one single breath...he was nearly shaking from his desire for silence. Outwardly, he had succeeded in finding his silence. He had learned, such a long time ago, at such a young age, that if he didn't speak, no one would ask. If he didn't talk, there would be no chance his words might give anything away. And if he gave anything away, he knew what would...

Bucky knew there was safety in his verbal silence. He learned to perfect his silence over all of these years...

Bucky knew he was in danger in his lack of mental silence, however. 

It had been a long, long time since his mind whipped and tore this harshly, skipping over itself and slicing into the brick wall barriers he had placed against himself. Chunking away like a fucking sledgehammer, leaving Bucky to choke on the red brick dust filling up his already constricted lungs. As much of a threat as Bucky's father was to him...Bucky knew his father barely could hold a finger to the violence Bucky warred on his own self. Bucky hadn't known it at the time, but when his father had held him down for the first time, had felt the sharp burn of unforgiving clenched skin against his own...something inside of him broke and shattered...and Bucky had been flailing his entire life trying to put those pieces back together...

That had been twelve years ago. 

And he remembered that day with far too much detail than any six year old should have. Because, when he recalls the last good memory of his father...he often leaves out the moments after that memory. After the baseball game. Where Bucky had felt alive, felt free...because, it had been on one of those perfect summer afternoons and sitting up on his father's shoulders coming home from the stadium, a clear blue sky above him and an entire world of endless possibilities swirling and creating in Bucky's wide, innocent eyes...Bucky truly felt like he could be anyone and anything he wanted, because he had the world's best and strongest and most loving father literally holding him up high that he felt like he could touch the sky. 

Bucky lets his mind stop on itself, forcing himself to settle on that moment for a few seconds, letting it wash over him gently before he knows what his mind is about to replay. The moment fizzles and blurs into the next, fading in like some shitty scene from some shitty screenplay on the very piss poor excuse of his own adolescence. He takes a sharp, shallow breath, easing in to the deadbolted, locked air tight, piles and piles of discarded thoughts weighing down the lid, burying the beat up trunk that held his most vividly and violently detailed memory.

When Bucky was little, he had one fear. One single fear. Not the dark or spiders or ghosts. He was afraid of thunderstorms. He was afraid of the power the lightning seemed to create, without having the understanding of electricity and the scientific fundamentals behind it. He just knew there was something deeply powerful about the way it would splinter across the sky with such a white hot fury...and it scared him. Thunder shook him. He was a rambunctious little boy, loud and clumsy, without shame...but, thunder was too loud even for him. He didn't like the way it shook his bones. He didn't like that he could feel it under his skin. Even the soft rumbles as the storms would slowly fade in and fade back out after it's destruction had been made. Bucky was scared of the silent, blinding white fury of the lightning and the bone rattling raging noise of the thunder. It was his one and only fear. 

Until that night. 

Bucky takes a deeper breath. He knows what's going to happen. He knows he's going to relive the very worst moment of his life. Right there. Curled up on Steve's bed, face pressed into the softest pillow Bucky may have ever felt, nestled underneath an open window that perfectly framed the bluest sky, with the brightest sun, and filled with singing birds and scented with the most fragrant flowers. He didn't even know where the flowers were coming from. Steve and his mother lived up on the 5th floor of their apartment building. And were surrounded by so many other buildings. But, Bucky could smell them. Even in his own imagination. 

And he hated that his mind was going to taint this perfect summer day. He hated that his memories were going to darken the sky with all of his own storm clouds, letting the harsh cold rains thrash and flood the warmth and surrounding everywhere he was right then. His memories always seemed to scar the beautiful new ones he was trying to make. 

He took a deep breath, ignoring the rushing pain radiating from his ribs, and closed his eyes, bracing for it. Bracing...

Bucky is back in his house, in the downstairs bathroom, framed in the doorframe. His fingers still had water dripping off of them, soap suds in the sink as he stretched his tiny body up from where he stood, tip toed and all, reaching for the faucet handle. The four sodas he had begged his father to let him have over the last few hours had finally worked their way through his little body and had been very eagerly searching for a way out. So, when they were in view of home, he had begged his father to let him down off of his shoulders so he could sprint as fast as his little legs could take him. That was always the rule. Bucky could run off ahead as long as he was still in sight of one of his parents. When Bucky finally shouldered his way in through the front door (never locked, his parents always trusting the neighborhood they chose to raise their kids in), Bucky slid his shoes off of his feet, not paying too much attention to where they landed. Shoes off at the front door, tucked away into their own little cubbies. Another rule. One Bucky was pretty terrible at following, but this was an emergency. Dr. Pepper didn't really care where Bucky's shoes landed. 

Bucky hadn't heard his father stumble over his discarded sneakers, tripping and landing harshly on his knee. Bucky had been lathering up his sticky fingers with too much soap, lost in his perfect little carefree world to notice. That wasn't unusual, either. Bucky was always lost in his own innocence, eyes wide and crooked baby teeth shining inside of a near constant smile that made the clear blue of his eyes sparkle with endless wondering snd curiosity of the world around him. It was always the thing people spoke so warmly about, even strangers passing by on the sidewalk would smile and praise his mother for having such a beautiful little boy who seemed so happy and carefree, and some even so much as saying they wished they could see the world the way Bucky clearly could see it. He just had that much radiating out of himself, that he could pull just about anyone in. At age six, Bucky could give hope to the disbelieving without a single drop of effort, and the world around him lightened because of it. 

But, that often times left Bucky forgetting about the literal world around him. That was why he had rules he had to follow. Sure, they were mostly simple rules, ones that most small children had. 'Walk, don't run. Wash your hands. Shoes off at the door. Inside voices. Clean your room. Chew with your mouth closed. Say thank you and please.' Bucky just had a few extra to keep him safe. 'Stop opening the door for people he didn't know. Stop asking people's names so he could call them friends so he could ignore the door opening rule. Put your shoes away. One hand had to always be holding a parent's hand or shirt tail while out in public. Tie your shoelaces. Stop eating gum wads from the subway railings. Put your shoes away. Stop giving away your lunch at school to the homeless man across the street. Stop leaving school and walking across the street at recess. Tie your shoelaces before your trip and fall. Stop daydreaming. Pay attention when someone is talking. Stop leaving your shoes in the middle of the floor where someone can trip over them.' 

Needless to say, this wasn't the first time his father had fallen because Bucky had left his sneakers in the middle of the doorway. But, this had been the first time Bucky's father had really drunk any beer in quick succession of one another. While Bucky may have had four Dr. Pepper's during the baseball game, his father had had seven beers. At least, that's what Bucky remembers. He had counted seven, but lost interest in that game when his father brought him back nachos and Bucky's entire focus shifted into seeing how many gooey, cheese covered chips he could fit into his mouth at one time. So, he hadn't really been all that attentive to the shift in his father's demeanor, or the way his words slid together like Bucky's do when he's really tired but not wanting to go to bed just yet. Or even the way his father seemed to slowly grow less enthusiastic about Bucky's quirks and relentless happiness, that when the game ended and Bucky had forgotten about the hand/shirt tail rule in the mass crowding of people, Bucky didn't know if the extra sharp twinge under his father's fingers that were suddenly wrapped around his tiny wrist was an accident or not. But, the moment he was lifted in the air and settled on his father's shoulders, any lingering worry faded and Bucky felt on top of the world again. He didn't even care about the funny smell coming from his father's breath, huffing in the warm spring heat with the sudden extra weight on his back. 

Bucky didn't notice any of those things, or, well, he had just long since forgotten about them, because that was just who he had become in his short six years. He really had been working on remembering to pick up his sneakers. Really. He had. But, he just really had to pee, and he had trudged through the mud pile he had built that morning and he didn't want to track muddy footprints on the floor again. So, he whipped them off as quick as he could and ran down the hall. Which was where he found his father. 

Bucky had his father's eyes. The same crystal clear grayish blue coloring. The way they settled underneath long eyelashes gave them the natural inviting warmth. Bucky always loved that, when people would comment on his eyes, that he could say "they're just like my daddy's!" Anything that reminded people of how much Bucky was like his fsther, Bucky swarmed himself with. He wanted to be just like his father when he grew up, and wanted, more than anything, to make his father proud of him, make him happy. And, up until that moment, he had never had any reason to doubt he wasn't living up to his own personal promise. Up until that moment...he had never even seen his father raise his voice. Not even once. Not even when Bucky broke the mirror off of the old muscle car his dad had been rebuilding in the garage. The mirror that his father had spent four months searching in junk yards for. He just chuckled softly and picked the pieces out of Bucky's hands and pat him on his head, smiling at him sweetly. That had been another one of those perfect days. Bucky felt like he could touch the whole world as long as his father smiled at him like that. 

But, there, with the soap still dripping off of his little fingers, something was missing from his father's face, as Bucky stared up at him. Bucky could feel the rumble of the thunder breaking across the land between where Bucky stayed frozen in front of the bathroom sink and his father stomping down the hallway towards him.

"How many fucking times have we told you to put your fucking shoes away?"

Bucky had heard a word like that before, once, while skipping along the sidewalk one day with his mother. His hand was gripped tightly in hers as he hopped over the cracks, one of his sisters grasping his other hand, copying each of Bucky's erratic steps. A man, sitting against the side of the building seemed to be having an argument with someone Bucky couldn't see. He wondered if he had a friend no one else could see, too. Bucky had one of those. His name was Dum Dum. Bucky and Dum Dum would fight sometimes, too. But, that was really only when Dum Dum would tell Bucky he should share and play with his sisters and Bucky really didn't want to. Dum Dum always won those fights. Bucky had stopped his skipping, causing his mother and sister to stop once they pulled on his hands. His mother pulled on Bucky's hand, urging him to keep walking, wanting to get home to start dinner. Bucky, instead, let go of both of their hands and turned towards the man. 

"I sometimes fight with my friend, too."

The man stopped talking, looking up at Bucky with wide, gray eyes. Bucky smiled back at the man. 

"He always tells me I'm not being nice to my sisters." 

The man let his head tilt to the side, eyes focused solely on Bucky. Bucky let his head tilt to the mirroring side, smiling still.

"My friend's name is Dum Dum. What's your friend's name? Maybe they know each other!" 

And, before Bucky could react, the man's head snapped to the side, towards the alleyway beside them, words hushed and hurried. If Bucky hadn't been standing so close, he probably wouldn't have heard the words the man was rushing through.

"Dum Dum. What's a Dum Dum. No. Shh. Fuck you. No. You. Shh. Stop it. I don't fucking know. I think he's real. No. He can't be. Shh. They sent him for me. No. Fuck. Stop it."

The man had turned his head slowly back towards Bucky, eyes wide and glaring with something Bucky hadn't seen before. He was reaching out a steady hand to introduce himself to the man, because proper manners were also a struggle for him, but his mother gripped his fingers tightly and pulled him away, apologizing to the man, quickening her steps with her two children stumbling to keep up. 

The word felt wrong coming from that man's mouth, but it felt even worse coming from his father's. And, where that man who had said that word had an odd look in his eyes, Bucky's father had a very different, but equally as odd look in his own. Maybe, not odd. No. That wasn't the word for it. It was scary. 

Another loud rumble of thunder echoed in the small bathroom as his father's hands wrapped around the thin muscle on each of Bucky's arms, just where they rotated in the sockets of his shoulders. He remembers the pain very clearly. Because, that was the first time his father touched him out of anger. And Bucky cried out, telling his father he was sorry, but the grip only grew tighter, and tears were starting to build and fall. Bucky tried telling his father that he was hurting him, but he still couldn't really understand that that was really happening. No. His father loved him. And protected him. And would never ever hurt him. 

"Why can't you listen? Just for once, fucking listen to anything I fucking tell you?" 

Bucky's nose scrunched up, the smell rushing out of his father's mouth was making his stomach hurt. It was stale, like the inside of the trash barrels in the garage. But, it was mixed with the way barbeques would smell on Fourth Of July in their backyard, and his father's work friends would stand around with dark brown bottles and Bucky would be sent away, or he would end up walking away from boredom, because the conversations were getting too inappropriate for such small ears. It was such an uneasy mixture of smells, and Bucky hated it. 

"I'm...sor...sor...sorry! Ow, please! Daddy...I'm..."

Bucky hiccupped and sniffled, trying to fix whatever he had done. He didn't know what he did, but he didn't want his father to be so upset with him. 

"Over and over again, we have to tell you the same fucking things. And you never fucking listen!" 

His father was screaming, now. The thunder had rolled up, now rattling deep inside of Bucky, shaking his bones in the worst way. His father never yelled. This was all a dream. It had to be. His father would never do this. Why was he doing this? Bucky was scared. 

Thunderstorms are supposed to be outside. He was supposed to be safe in his house. The storm couldn't hurt him if he was in his house. He was safe in his house. Why was there thunder inside of his house? Why did the thunder sound so much like his father? Bucky was shaking. He knew that when the thunder got closer, lightning was on its way. 

Bucky was waiting for the lightning. 

His father dragged him out of the bathroom, one hand still gripping tightly around Bucky's right arm. The hallway seemed so big, so endless. Bucky tried to get his feet underneath him, but his father was pulling him too quickly, so he stumbled, his feet falling behind him, forcing him to be dragged along the wooden boards, feeling his skin on his knees bubble and blister from the friction. Bucky tried to find some way to push himself up, his fingers on his left hand fell underneath his father's boot, slamming them in between the stomping footstep and the wooden floor, crunching tiny bones just to the point of breaking without being broken. Bucky cried out, no words, just sobs. 

When they reached the front door, Bucky's father let go of his grip, letting Bucky fall to the floor with a loud thud. Bucky folded in on himself, feeling too much pain all at once. The worse thing he had felt at this point in his short little life was when he jumped off the side of the shed and skinned his entire knee on the driveway and cut his eyebrow on the windowsill on his way down. Aside from the usual cuts and bruises any little kid gets, that was it. But, this...this was too much. His knees were pulsing, a sharp burn bubbling beneath his skin. His fingers on his left hand twitched, the nerves spasming around the bones. His right arm ached, the soreness teetering close towards numbness. He stared up at his father, his vision blurry as more tears fell. Why was he doing this? Bucky couldn't understand. 

"Pick up your fucking shoes. Now.!"

Bucky stared. What? Why was he so angry about his shoes? He didn't mean to leave them in the...

Fingers twisted in Bucky's sloppy, shaggy hair. Tightly. Too tightly. Too tight and tight enough to lift his tiny body half off the floor, closer to his father's crouched down face. A flash of lightning. Not a bolt, just a flash. A warning just before the impending rumble. 

"Pick. Them. Up. Now." 

Thunder cracked. Tears fell. And Bucky couldn't move. 

Too tight fingers let go of his hair. Bucky slumped back to the floor. The back of his head thudding against the ground, echoeing too loudly between his ears. Too tight fingers wrapped around his left arm, right below his shoulder, just like his right. They gripped tighter. And tighter. And suddenly, Bucky was pulled, lifting off the ground. Thunder cracked again.

"I said pick them up now!"

Bolts of lightning scattered along Bucky's vision. White chaotic fury, electric, sharp, hot...too hot. His arm, pulling, too much. His shoulder, his arm, it's not right, something's not right. And Bucky screamed. But, his father didn't let go. He didn't pull him close for a hug. Like he had always done when Bucky was scared. He didn't kiss the top of Bucky's head to let him know he was safe when Bucky scrambled into his parents bed when a storm would crash through the night. He didn't whisper in Bucky's ear that nothing can hurt him as he pulled Bucky under the covers, tucking Bucky away from the storm outside. He didn't do any of those things. He just kept pulling. He kept becoming the storm. 

"St...st...stop! Please! It...it hurts! Please...pl...pl...I'm sor...sor...sorry...please!" 

His father dropped his grip, letting Bucky fall onto his left arm. He screamed out again. More lightning. Too many bolts. Too bright. Too hot. 

And, suddenly, Bucky was lifted up, arms under his knees and behind his back. His eyes were squeezed tight. Too tight. The lightning was too bright. He could hear the thunder rumble inside of one of his ears. The ear that was pressed against a chest. Maybe. He didn't know. Everything hurt. His arm. His arm was dipping back and forth between numbing pain and excruciating pain. It danced that fine line with each step that was taken underneath that rumbling chest. Bucky couldn't understand the words. The lightning had struck too many times for his body to work right. Maybe this is what everyone meant when they said that lightning can hurt, and why he should always go inside. 'Lightning can't get you inside the house'. But...it did. Why did it? He was inside. He was in his house. How did the lightning get in? He was in his house...he was supposed to be safe... Why wasn't he safe? 

He doesn't even remember how he ended up at the hospital, but he was there. Feet dangling over the side of a stretcher, scratchy cotton itching the back of his knees. He had bandaids on each of his knees. When did those get there? They were Spiderman bandaids. Just like the ones he had at home. Just like the three of them already on his right leg from when he tried to climb underneath the porch and scratched up his leg on the fencing that he broke last summer when him and Dum Dum were playing army guys and Bucky needed to rescue people that were locked inside. His father only chuckled quietly when Bucky explained that to him, telling Bucky not to worry about the broken fencing, and to continue on his rescue mission with Dum Dum before dinner was ready. He remembers Dum Dum helping him find the bandaids in the bathroom, because Bucky always forgot where he last put them, for the scrapes on his leg. But, he can't remember putting the bandaids on his knees. 

Just like he can't remember how his shoes ended up back on his feet. They felt heavy. Too heavy. His feet dangling off the edge of the stretcher, the untied shoelaces waving as his feet twitched and fidgeted. He was always leaving them untied, always forgetting to check them. Just like he was always forgetting to put his shoes away. 'We have to tell you the same fucking things.' There was that word again, and there was that thunder, and Bucky suddenly remembered. His hair, his skin, he bones, it all came rushing back. His eyes widened as he looked around the room. His father was sitting to the side, sitting in one of the chairs, arms crossed on top of his chest, his head tipped back and eyes closed. And Bucky just stared. 

Who was that man? He looked so much like his father, but...

The door opened and Bucky's father sat upright, unfazed. Where had his father gone? 

A young, twenty-something blonde haired woman entered, warm smile on her face, even warmer deep blue eyes looking at Bucky. 

"Hi James. My name is Sarah. I'm your nurse."

She crouched down in front of him, looking calmly up at him, still smiling. 

"Can you tell me what happened to your arm?"

Bucky stared down at her. Her eyes were too warm. Warm eyes lie. His father had warm eyes. And then, they went cold. Her eyes will go cold. Warm eyes aren't safe. Inside isn't safe. He's not safe. He couldn't even feel his arm. His whole arm had gone numb. He thought that was probably a good thing. It meant he couldn't feel his fingers throbbing either, not even when Sarah reached out and touched them. He might have cried if he could feel them. He felt better pretending nothing else hurt on him. He knew he couldn't pretend with his arm, because it hung all wrong beside him, but he could hide everything else. He could hide how hurt and afraid and broken he really was. He could hide that it was because his father did all of this to him. He could hide that he let his father down because he can't remember to put his own shoes away. He could hide. 

And, maybe, just maybe, if he hides deep enough, the thunder and lightning can't find him again. 

Sarah just keeps smiling at him. 

"That's okay, sweetie."

Then, she looks away, looking at the man who looks so much like his father. 

"How 'bout you? Dad, I take it?"

The man who looks like his father smiles back. He even has the same smile as his father. But, it just doesn't make sense. It can't be his father. He wouldn't...he couldn't...

"Boys being boys. Jumped off the shed, thinking he could be a superhero, or something. Took my eyes off of him for two seconds and he was already leaping off the roof. I shouldn't have looked away. If I hadn't..."

Bucky watched, stared. When that man's eyes softened, turning and looking at Bucky, fear rattled through Bucky in all the worst ways. Bucky tore his eyes away from those same crystal clear gray blue eyes that he had and stared down at his feet, shoelaces still hanging loosely to the sides of each shoe. 

Sarah nodded at Bucky's father, smiling eyes reaching back down at Bucky. 

"I know what you mean. My little guy is quite the handful, too. He's around your age, James, a little smaller, though. But, I'm pretty sure if he saw your awesome Spiderman bandaids, he'd probably be completely in love with you." 

Bucky stared back down at the bandaids on his knees. How did they get there? What was Sarah's son like? Was he afraid of the world like Bucky is now? Did his father hurt him like Bucky's father had done? Could he come and take Bucky away forever? And they could laugh and play and take turns pretending to be Spiderman and no one in the entire world could hurt them? ...hurt him anymore... How did Bucky get those bandaids on his knees, anyways?

Bucky thinks time passed by, but the world was becoming very heavy, all of a sudden, and Bucky hadn't been paying attention again. Sarah was standing by Bucky's side. Another strange man was standing over Bucky on the stretcher, a genuine attempt at a reassuring smile on his face. Sarah smiled, reaching out and holding onto Bucky's right hand, as the strange man reached out to touch Bucky's left arm. He hadn't heard thunder, but Bucky saw one last bolt of lightning before complete darkness. 

Bucky woke up, in his own room, in his own bed. His left arm snuggly wrapped in a sling that hung around his neck and kept his arm close to his chest. The sling was some kind of slippery fabric, scratchy, but not scratchy like the hospital bed had been. It had tigers and lions on it. They looked happy.

Bucky hated them.


	11. Feathers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure how I really feel about this chapter. It was really tough for me to figure out the flow for this one, and not sure I like how it came out. 
> 
> More, or less, just so I could get to the next chapter. 
> 
> Sorry for that terrible introduction to this chapter. "Here's a new chapter! I hate it. I hope you enjoy it!" Whoops!
> 
> Also, my half assed attempt at some smut...if you wanna call it that. 
> 
> So, with all that said...enjoy?  
> Let me know what you think.

Steve had woken to the sun shining in through the bedroom window. A soft breeze fluttered the half shades he had put up years ago. They were worn away at the edges, a faded maroon, barely matching any other textile in his bedroom. They were cut and hung from old bedsheets. The day felt like one of those perfect summer days, where absolutely anything was possible, and nothing bad could ever happen. He always loved how the perfect mixture of sunlight and temperature could cause such a reaction, but it had always been a favorite of his. 

The sniffling warmth to his side pulled him back to his reality. Snuggled in closely underneath his arm, face pressed partially into his rib cage, Steve looked down to see Bucky fast asleep. Steve glanced over his features, softened under the pull of sleep. His lips parted, short puffs of air pushing out as Bucky slept. The lines that had pressed so harshly into his sun tanned skin had smoothed. For that short moment in time, Bucky looked peaceful. If it weren't for the violently contrasting purples and blacks splayed across the skin around and beneath his eye, the bandages pressed so diligently above his eye, Steve would believe this was, by far, one of those amazingly perfect summer days.

But, it wasn't.

Not even fucking close.

Steve reached over, gently, slowly, hoping he wouldn't wake Bucky up. He grabbed his cell phone from the nightstand, clicking it on to read the time. They had only been back from the hospital for two hours. Steve was still amazed he had managed to get Bucky up the stairs, partially undressed and in bed with very minimal effort. Bucky had been obviously going through the motions, heartwrenching emptiness still buried inside of Bucky's eyes. And, yeah, Bucky still hadn't spoken another word since his horrifying statement back at the hospital. 

Steve just still couldn't wrap his head around the fact that Bucky could tell his mother he didn't need any xrays because he knew what broken bones had felt like. How many nights like last night had Bucky had? How had Steve never noticed before? He tried thinking back over the past few years he had been very awkwardly and creepily staring at Bucky in the halls and during classes when Bucky wasn't looking. He definitely would have noticed bruises across Bucky's skin. Steve could draw, with absolute precision, the dips and curves and scars and freckles that made up that perfect olive sheath of Bucky's skin. He had it absolutely memorized. And, aside from a few broken arms, he can't remember anything out of the ordinary. 

Bucky played sports. He would have had bruises and scrapes from that. Bucky goofed off. He would show off to anyone that would watch, if even to just get them to smile. He would have gotten a few broken arms and fingers along the way, if it meant someone laughed. Bucky was the most literal fucking ray of sunshine lighting up Steve's entire world...and...

How had Steve never noticed...?

Steve put his phone back on his nightstand, shifting his weight carefully to press back into Bucky. Bucky had buried his forehead into the rivets of Steve's ribcage. He could feel Bucky's soft breaths wash across his skin. Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky's shoulders, pulling him even closer. He never wanted to let go. 

Ever.

\----------------------

Bucky was falling. The wind was whipping through his hair, twisting at the bloodied clumped tendrils of his shaggy brown curls. Weightless. Sinking. Why was he falling. The world was spinning, his feet firmly planted to the surface like concrete. But, he was just falling? The ground spilled out from beneath his feet. The air ripped out of his lungs as he was thrown down. Down, down, down. Darkness. Cold. Skin crushing against bones as he landed. Dim light. Where the fuck...?

Footsteps. Stomping. They're getting closer, closer. Run. Run! Why won't his feet move? More concrete. Up to his shins. His knees. His waist. His chest. He can't breathe. His lungs can't expand. He's suffocating. Gulping air. Weightless. Drowning. Wet. Warm. So much red. Wave after wave, red churning all around him. Sinking. Gasping. 

Red everywhere. Churning all around him. Dripping down his face, rushing down his throat, drowning him from the inside out. Thrashing arms. Flailing legs. Can't breathe. Can't swim. Drowning. Red.

Red. Red. Red. Red.

Blue eyes shoot open, panic piercing across their cerulean landscape. Deep breath. In. Out. In. Out. Blue skies. Open air. Comfy bed. Soft breeze. Warm body. Safe. Steve. 

Bucky blinked his eyes, trying to squint the remaining flickers of his nightmare away. The sun was still fairly high up in the sky, so he figured it could only be early afternoon. How long had he been sleeping? Was it still the same day from when Steve found him staring out into absolutely nothing at the beach in the morning? Did all of that shit really happen last night? Everything hurt, so...it had to have been real. Fuck. 

Steve shifted beside him, and Bucky closed his eyes. He left the warmth of Steve's bared chest press against his own. Steve's skin was so soft, so warm, so...real. Bucky wanted to live inside the feeling of his skin against Steve's. It had only been recently, when his skin felt Steve's against him for the first time. Shit, it was the last time Bucky was actually in Steve's bed. 

They had spent the last month, exploring, slowly. Everything was new to them. This was all new to them. They filled their empty spaces in the days and the nights with longer and longer make out sessions. Both breathless and coated in absolute bliss of their gooey new love. Fuck. Everything was fantastic. 

And, then, they both wanted more. That's where Bucky found himself, he was in the same spot he was in now, body curled against the worn out sheets, face pressing into the softest pillow he had ever felt, body shivering under the soft breezes the open window was making, skin pressed against his own skin, marks left behind in their wake, teeth bared and digging into the best parts of Bucky. Only, that time, it wasn't Bucky's father leaving eventual fading marks behind. 

It was Steve.

And, that time, those marks weren't made and scarred in a place of violence. 

It was love.

And, fuck, Bucky was more than absolutely in love with that stupid little blond boy pressed up against his body. Even if he was big now, Steve would always be that scrawny little, wide eyed, paint splotched boy he saw the first day of high school. But, _oh...fuck, just like that...fuck_ , Bucky was in love. 

He was in love with the way Steve's lips felt, softly pressing against his own. The sun had chapped them, leaving behind a perfect burn from their day spent at the boardwalk. And when Bucky's own lips parted, pulling Steve in deeper, tongue licking its way into Steve's own parting mouth, Bucky drank in every moan slipping past Steve's teeth like Bucky had been deprived of water his entire lifetime, and all of the ones before that. 

He was in love with the gentle touch Steve's fingertips made on Bucky's skin, inching and finding their way under the hem of Bucky's tshirt, pressing firmly against the shaped muscles of Bucky's stomach, tracing every contour, bunching the shirt up towards Bucky's chest until Bucky reached down and ripped the shirt up over his head, letting it fall to the floor. 

He was in love with the way Steve leaned back, deep blue iris' pressed to faint outlines as dark pupils flooded their color, staring straight into Bucky's own darkened blue spheres. The widening depth of lusted darkness of their pupils left both of them breathless, subconscious bodily reactions delayed further as Steve tugged and pulled on his own shirt, leaning over and dropping it on top of Bucky's own, letting their outer masking covers blend and rest together below them. Yeah, Bucky was getting all sentimental and metaphorical about the way their fucking tshirts landed on top of one another...

He was in love with the slow pull he had on Steve as Bucky reached towards Steve, fingers grasping behind Steve's neck, closing the far too expansive space between their chests. 

He was in love with the rush of fire that burned so strongly in his skin when Bucky finally pressed Steve's naked chest onto his own, lips finding lips and bodies finding their perfectly molded counterparts. 

He was in love with the slow, steady pace their bodies danced with one another, the swell of Steve against Bucky's leg, the build of warmth between Bucky's own, leading, twitching, searching for friction, grinding up into Steve, losing himself in the pulsing pleasure of Steve on top of him. 

He was in love with the frantic mess of hands and lips and tongues and teeth, as both Bucky and Steve pulled and pried belts and jeans, freeing one another from the fucking terrible confines of clothing. 

And... _oh...fuck, god, yes._

Bucky pulled Steve back down on top of him. The sudden return of Steve's weight on Bucky's skin sparked another six fires to the places Bucky wasn't already on fire, flames licking up into the curve of Bucky's bared ass, flames that felt so much like Steve's tongue as it trailed along the dip of Bucky's spine. Bucky's breath hitched, losing its way out of his throat as a gutteral moan sped past and roared out of his mouth, as Steve trailed his cooled fingers between their bodies, searching for that sweet spot where they both needed to lose themselves to. And, where a once deep moan permeated the sexually tensed air around them, a wanting whimper echoed, as Steve held them both in his hand. 

Bucky dug his elbows into the mattress beneath him, heels pressing down the same, back arching, bared ass lifting into the air, rocking and pressing against Steve's curling fingers, stars and entire fucking galaxies flooding Bucky's vision as Steve found that absolute island of perfectly bundled nerves that forced Bucky to scream, strangled whispers rasping between their panting breaths. "Fuck! Fuck! Oh my g...Steve...I'm gon...I'm gonna..."

\------------------------

Bucky groaned and forced himself to open his eyes. His entire body screamed with exhaustion, and even though his mind was a frenzied kaleidoscope of sharpened and dulled out memories, he couldn't get himself back to sleep. He could feel the frantic energy burning beneath his skin, and he just couldn't relax. It took him a brief moment to shake off the perfect memory of him and Steve, and the distorted memories of the night before riddled with pieces of the nightmare he had had. His head ached, trying to keep those three things sorted. Real. Real. Not real. 

He slammed his eyes closed, trying to build up those invisible walls to keep the details of each separated. Steve underneath him. Soft and warm and safe. Mirrored identical blue eyes filled with anger and betrayal. Seas of red waves crashing over him, pulling Steve underneath the surface, just out of reach of Bucky's hand... No! Fuck. Fuck. 

Bucky opened his eyes back up, hoping that physically seeing Steve could wash away the red that had been splashing against Steve's skin inside of his head. His eyes drifted down Steve's chest. 

Red splotches. Just like the painted specks Steve used to always have on his shirts, when he was small and scrawny and perfect. But, he's not wearing a shirt. And he's not small and scrawny. Okay, he was still perfect. But, wait. This is wrong. This is all wrong.

Bucky blinked his eyes again. No. The sea of red wasn't real. It was only a dream. Bucky was here, in Steve's room, with Steve...this was real. No. Red. Red. Red.

"No. No no no no..."

Bucky reached out and let his fingers dip into the red stains on Steve's skin. Wet. Warm. Red. Real. 

"No. No no no no..."

\---------------------

Steve startled from the cushiony dream of him and Bucky frolicking through warm wavey waters and giggling like little kids as they splashed one another. His eyes fluttered open, his brain stumbling, desperately trying to catch up to the murmured breaths that sounded an awful lot like Bucky's voice. Except, it sounded different...thicker with something Steve's sleepy head couldn't tag just at that very moment. And why was he saying "no" over and over again...?

Steve watched as Bucky's long, thin fingers traced crimson circles across his chest. Where had Bucky gotten red paint, and why was he finger painting overlapping circles and unending twisty twirling misshapen designs? 

Steve's eyes finally trekked cross the vast distance between where Steve's mind had lived and the harshest reality where Bucky was softly, fearfully repeating too many "no's". Steve nearly choked when his entire own reality shattered under the weight of the sheer panic that was pooling inside of Bucky's eyes. Eyelids spread thin. Pupils dilated. Fear dripping across that grayed out see of cerulean lapping waters. 

Oh, fuck. The steri-strips across Bucky's forehead had pulled, letting blood trickle down the creases in Bucky's face, melting into the bloody trails dripping out of Bucky's nose. The morbid concoction had seeped onto Steve's chest while they both had been asleep, Bucky's wounds having been reopened in their mutually necessary slumbers. 

It took Steve nearly 26 seconds for his brain to catch up, yet again. The sweat soaked deep into Bucky's shaggy hair, creased into the worried wrinkles of his forehead, swirling and mixing with the overflow of tears sliding across his cheeks. Bucky had woken from whatever nightmare, or, at this point, his very surreal reality wrapped up into a memory, and saw Steve's unconscious body covered in very real blood. 

"Oh, fuck."

Steve sat up, quicker than he probably should have, startling both himself and Bucky in the process. Bucky visibly flinched, recoiling against the wall Steve's bed was pushed against, slamming his back violently against the drywall. Bucky's chest heaved, rising and falling too rapidly, hyperventilating as Steve watched, still partially frozen in his own fear. 

A blue jay landed on the sill of Steve's open bedroom window, perching itself just under the ledge of the window pane. Steve watched as its feathers rustled in the soft afternoon breeze, shimmering subtly in shades of blue and white as it cocked its head to the side, beady black eyes staring curiously at the scene before it spread out across Steve's bed. Two teenage boys, one panicked and shaking, the other startled and half covered in blood. If it were any other situation, Steve might have slowly reached to his nightstand to grab his sketchbook, wanting to capture the small bird's adventurous curiosity on paper. But, as the bird began to chirp, Steve plummeted back down to the reality in front of him, exhaling a sharp rush of air. 

"Bucky? Bucky...hey, look at me..."

Slowly, he stretched his hands towards Bucky, fighting the slight tremble of having absolutely no fucking idea what to do that vibrated through him to his fingertips. Bucky's eyes widened even further, something Steve hadn't known was possible, and almost was afraid they would finally disconnect and detach themselves, popping out from their own sockets and crash down to the bed with an unsettling squishy plop. 

Steve managed to finally grasp Bucky's shoulders, both gently and securely, wrapping his fingers around the joint, hoping to steady Bucky and himself. Bucky's entire body turned rigid, air ceasing inside of his chest, tears forming along the ridges of those fear driven eyes. And Steve almost recoiled. Almost fearing that Bucky was associating Steve's touch as violence, as another bruise, another injury to add to Bucky's blatantly lengthy novel of a list he already had. Holy shit, did Steve never want to really ever fully read that thing... 

"Hey, you're okay. It's just me. It's Steve. You're okay."

Steve's own breath caught inside of his throat when, after what felt like ninety-five years, Bucky's wide eyes dropped and he lifted his hand up, fingers twitching, almost instinctively revolting against his own actions, as he reached towards the drying blood on Steve's skin. A soft sob escaped between Bucky's lips when his fingertips pressed into the red stains. Steve broke his gaze from Bucky's battle worn face, glancing down at the point of contact between the two of them. He let go of one of Bucky's shoulders, reaching down to intertwine his fingers with Bucky's.

"It's okay. I'm okay. Your forehead, it...it opened back up. And I think your nose started bleeding again."

Bucky's eyes quickly flickered between Steve's chest, their hands and Steve's face, flitting back and forth betwen the three with no specific pattern. It wasn't until Steve felt the rush of air as Bucky finally exhaled that Steve reached back over the distance between them and pulled Bucky in close to him, angling his head so Bucky's forehead could nestle right into the crook. 

And Steve held on, squeezing his arms across Bucky's shoulders and upper back, keeping him safe against him. Steve looked back over towards the half opened window. The blue jay still sat perched on the sill, head still cocked to the side, still the same beady eyes watching over the two of them with that same adventurous curiosity. It was with one last chirp that the bird fluttered its wings and took off into the clear blue sky outside the window, and it was then that Steve wondered if he could ever flutter his own wings and fly off into the perfect afternoon skies with Bucky nestled safely beneath his feathers.


	12. Fatherly Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is going to be short, but I've had it written for a while and I wanted to get it out. 
> 
> George Barnes' POV.

The pounding buried deep inside of George Barnes' head damn near matched the sounds of a full construction site just at midday, when all the workers are hammering away as fast and loudly as possible, desparate to stitch the last few moments before their lunch breaks together in as much of a professional rush without giving themselves away. Add a few jackhammers and some close up explosions, and that could possibly coincide the current vicious vibrating pain currently echoeing between his ears. 

The first glimmers of morning light had started to filter in through the living room windows. Slowly, and immediately washed over with copious levels of regret, did George Barnes open his eyes, letting the warm glow of the morning summer sun infiltrate and speckle shades of green into those gray blue eyes of his. Deep crimson spidering veins etched themselves into the white scleras, adding too much definitive details of exactly what had happened the night before. 

Overwhelming waves of more immediate regret washed back over him. Fuck. He had let it happen again. Of course he had. He always did. He had been letting this happen over and over again, all these years. Sure, he could blame it on the stress of the job, or the booze he consistently filled his gut with, or the off beat sarcasm his son seemed to find new vocabulary formations specifically for...but, no, that wouldn't be fair. 

He had no fucking excuse.

Except, that he was a terrible person. And an even more terrible father.

God, he loved his son. He loved his family. His wife, his beautiful little girls...and the radiating warm ball of beautiful energy that was his one and only son. He still remembers the day Bucky was born, and the first time he cradled him close to his chest, staring down at those wide, innocent, matching gray blue eyes. The entire world had slipped away, and it was just a father and a son in that moment. George knew he would give the entire world to this little baby boy. 

What had happened to him? How did he lose sight of how to be a good father? He could still be a good dad to his girls. He could still be a good husband to his wife. How come he lost sight of how to be a good dad to his only boy? 

Sure, Bucky was defiant, stubborn as all hell, and a blinding beautiful curiosity that stung at George's own shrinking heart strings. But, all of those things were what George adored about Bucky when he was a small little boy. The warmth that such a tiny little person could create and envelop the world and strangers around him was something George prided himself on. His first born child, naturally instilled with a personality that could heal even the most wounded, somehow couldn't heal his own father. And, after that first night, the look of absolute fear burning its way into those matching innocent eyes of his small child...George Barnes realized he had failed. He had failed his son, and he didn't know how to come back from that. 

So, when Bucky stopped running to him when he would come home from school, or asking to play catch on the weekends, or casually laugh and talk about all the outlandish ideas he had for himself for the future, George wasn't exactly surprised. He had lost his son that night after that baseball game, and from that moment, he repeatedly stumbled over himself trying to get back. And, every night, he repeatedly found himself failing over and over again. 

So, he did the only thing he knew how to do. He hid his pain of his own failures behind excuses and whiskey. 

And he could never understand how, when Bucky grew taller and stronger, why he never fought back. Why, when it was completely obvious that Bucky could overpower and defend himself against his own father, why he never did. And George always rationalized that it was because Bucky was just that much better of a person than George would ever be. And, those nights always hit him the hardest, when he was hit with that realization that he had this perfect child that, even when hit, literally, night after night with the worst of what a person could be, he never fought back, and just stood, head still raised in the air, letting the worst of the worst kind of person a father could be break him down again and again. 

Bucky was a good person. The best version of all the things George Barnes could have been. And, even in his own drunken stupors and bottomless pit of overwhelming regret, George Barnes could never be more proud of his son. That, even through all the darkness and hatefulness that consumed George, he still had been able to help create something so pure, so beautiful. 

And he broke it. 

Last night. He broke it. Because, for the first time, Bucky swung back. He defended himself. And, when that first hit connected, George felt the world shift beneath both of their feet. It was through his own suffocating fear that he swung back at his son with even more fury and even more malice. Because, and as useless as excuses go, George had felt his son slipping away from him and he believed, in his alcohol muddied brain, that the harder he swung, the more broken he could make his son, the chances he would lose him altogether diminished. 

But, that obviously wasn't true. No. He WAS losing his son. Because, his son had enlisted in the army. To get away from his own father. And, that just about broke the very last shred of rational consciousness that blurred inside of George Barnes. 

Willingly choosing to run into active war was better than staying in the comfort of one's own home. In everything he's done and lived and witnessed in his own lifetime, the unyielding bitterness lacing Bucky's words when he screamed what he had done will forever be the last words George Barnes will remember for eternity. 

"At least, in the army, when they break you down and beat you to a pulp, it's to help build you back up."

And that crushed George. And it crushed him over and over again with every fist that connected, with every drop of blood he made shed from his own child's face, with every blossoming bruise he branded onto his own son. Something had broken inside of Bucky last night, the same time the rest of whatever was inside of George broke away, too. 

George Barnes was many things in this short little life of his, in this small little world of his. He was a good father to his girls. He was a good husband to his wife. And, he was the biggest and worst mistake there ever could be to his son. 

His greatest achievement in life was being James Barnes' father. 

His biggest regret in life was being James Barnes' father.

Because, James Barnes deserved so much better. And George Barnes had forgotten how to be that for him. 

So, he stumbled his way up those stairs and down the hallway that had all of those pictures of this perfect little family growing older throughout all of these years, and made it to his son's bedroom. He lifted that broken door off of the floor and set it back on its hinges. He made his way down to his garage and back up, closing off that haggard hole he had kicked into it, hoping that by closing off that gaping hole in his son's bedroom door, he could close off the gaping hole of all the things he wish he could replace about himself...almost as though if he could construct a new, more improved version of a stupid fucking bedroom door...that, maybe...just maybe, he could construct himself into being a better father, a better man that his son deserved from the moment he was placed in George's arms. 

But, even though he wished for all of these things he could give to his son, he knew, buried deep, but not nearly all that deep, inside of his mind and heart that he could never be that man. No. He will forever be the failing shadow of what a good father should be, what it looked like all those years ago. And, even though he hasn't heard a word from his son, just a simple 'fuck off' text that he probably absolutely deserves, George knows exactly where his son more than likely ended up. And, as much of an asshole of a person he absolutely has become, George Barnes will, along with his beautiful daughters, along with his adoring wife, along with the son he never deserved...George Barnes will forever be grateful for the boy named Steve Rogers.

He had only met him once, in the shortest, most briefest of passing moments, but the absolute look of love and admiration George saw in his son's eyes, well, Steve Rogers could be anything he wanted to be, as long as that look of pure emotion lived inside of his child's eyes, a look he had thought he had somehow snuffed out from his own stupid actions. And, to see that same look radiate from deep within that Rogers' boy, George Barnes knew his son would be okay. 

That, even if he couldn't give his son the safety and the happiness and the love he deserved...there was someone out there who could, and who was.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi - rancidrat86.tumblr.com


End file.
